









Class 

Book. 


•PZS 




Gcpigte'N?.^ S P» 


COFmiCHT DEPO 


a>T 


GPO 



I 



















Issstrs 

General Editor 


LINDSAY TODD DAMON, A. B. 

Professor of English in Brown University 


ADDISON — Sir Roger de Coverley Papers — ^Abbott 

ADDISON AND STEELE — Selections from The Taller and The Spec- 
tator — Abbott 

-«NEID OF VIRGIL— Allinson 

AUSTEN — Pride and Prejudice 

BROWNING — Selected Poems — Reynolds 

BUILDERS OF DEMOCRACY— Greenlaw 

BUNYAN — The Pilgrim’s Progress — Latham 

BURKE — Speech on Conciliation with CoUawal Readings — Ward 

BURNS — Selected Poems and CARLYLE — Essay on Burns — Marsh 


1 vol. — M oody 


CHAUCER — Selections — Greenlaw 
COLERIDGES — The Ancient Mariner 
LOWELL — Vision of Sir Launfal 
COOPER — The Last of the M ohicans — Lewis 
COOPER — The Spy — Damon 
DANA — Two Years Before the iviost — Westcptt 
DEFOE — Robinson Crusoe — Hastings 


Democracy Today — Gauss 

DE OUINCEY — Joan of Arc and Selections — Moody 
DE OUINCEY — The Flight of a Tartar Tribe — French 
DICKENS — A Christmas Carol, etc. — Broadus 
DICKENS — A Tale of Two Cities — Baldwin 
DICKENS — David Copperfield — Baldwin 
DRYDEN — Palamon and Arcite — Cook 
EMERSON — Essays and Addresses — Heydrick 

English Poems — From Pope, Gray, Goldsmith, Coleridge, Byron 
Macaulay, Arnold, and others — Scudder 

English Popular Ballads — Hart 
Essays — English and American — Alden 
Familiar Letters — Greenlaw 
FRANKLIN — Autobiography — Griffin . 

French Short Stories — Schweikert. 

GASKELL (Mrs.) — Cranford — Hancock 
GEORGE ELIOT — Silas Marner — Hancock 
GEORGE ELIOT — The Mill on the Floss — Ward i 

GOLDSMITH — The Vicar of Wakefield — Morton 
HAWTHORNE — The House of the Seven Gables — Herrick 
HAWTHORNE — Ticice-Told Tales — Herrick and Bruere 
HUGHES — Tom iSrown’s School Days — de Mille . 

I R VING— Li/e of GoldsmUh—WRKVV 
IRVING — The Sketch Book — Krapp 

IRVING — Tales of a Traveller — and parts ol The Sketch Book — Krapp 


WifB Slake QUajaatra 


LAMB — Essays of Elia — Benedict 
LONGFELLOW — Narrative Poems- — Powell 
LOWELL — Vision of Sir Eaunfal — See Coleridge 
MACAULAY — Essays on Addison and Johnson — Newcomee 
MACAULAY — Essays on Clive and Hastings — Newcomee. 

MACAULAY — Goldsmith, Frederic the Great, Madame D'Arblay — New- 
comeb 

MACAULAY — Essays on Milton and Addison — Newcomer 
MILTON — U Allegro, II Penseroso, Comus, and Lycidas — Neilson 
MILTON — Paradise Lost, Books I and II — Farley 
Old Testament Narratives — Rhodes . 

One Hundred Narrative Poems — Teter 
PALGRAVE — Golden Treasury — Newcomer- 
PARKMAN — The Oregon Trail — Macdonald 
POE — Poems and Tales, Selected — Newcomer 

POPE— Homer’s Iliad, Books I, VI, XXII, XXIV— Ceessy and Moody 

READE — The Cloistef and The Hearth — de Mille 

RUSKIN — Sesame and Lilies — Linn 

Russian Short Stories — SCHWEIEERT 

SCOTT — Ivanhoe — Simonds 

SCOTT — Quentin Durward — Simonds 

SCOTT — Lady of the Lake — Moody 

SCOTT — Lay of the Last Minstrel — Moody and Willard 

SCOTT — Marmion — Moody and Willard 

SHAKSPERE — The Neilson Edition — Edited by W. A. Neilson, 


As You Like It 
Hamlet 
Henry V 
Julius Caesar 


Macbeth 

Midsummer-Night' s Dream 
Romeo and Juliet 
The Tempest 


Tw^fth Night 


SHAKSPERE — flerchanZ of Venice — Lovett 
SOUTHEY — Life of Nelson — Westcott 

STEVENSON — Inland Voyage and Travels with a Donkey — Leonard 

STEVEN S ON — Kidnapped — Leonard 

STEVENSON — Treasure Island — Broadus 

TENNYSON — Selected Poems — Reynolds 

TENNYSON — The Princess — Copeland 

THOREAU — Walden — Bowman 

THACKERAY — Henry Esmond — Phelps 

THACKERAY — English Humorists — Cunliffe and Watt 

Three American Poems — The Raven, Snow-Bound, Miles Standish— 
Greever 

Types of the Short Story — Heydrick 
Washington, Webster, Lincoln — Denney 


SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY 


CHICAGO : 623 S. Wabash Ave. NEW YORK : 8 East 34th Street 


^afee €nslisi() Classics 

REVISED EDITION WITH HELPS TO STUDY 


THE SPY 


A TALE OF THE NEUTRAL GROUND 

BY 

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 

M 


EDITED FOR SC’IIHOL USE 

BY 

LINDSAY TODD DAMON 

PROFESSOR OF F.NGLISTI. BROWN UNIVERSITY 




/ 


SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY 
CHICAGO NEW YORK 




Copyright 1914, 1920 
By Scott, Foresman and Company 

\ 

\ 

/ 


I S lij^U 


ROBERT O. LAW COMPANY 

EDITION BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
CHICAGO. U. S A. 

I 


©CI.A565873 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Map ' iv 

Lmroduction — 

. ' L Cooper’s Life and Works... *. v 

II. TUe Spy 7 

III. Chronology 12 

IV. Bibliographical Note 14 

Author’s Introduction 15 

Text 21 

Notes 454 

Appendix 

Helps to Study 461 

Theme Subjects 465 

Suggestions for Class, Reading, j 46G 

Suggestions for Dramatization 467 





iv 



INTRODUCTION 




I 

\ 

COOPER’S LIFE AND WORKS 

I 

When Cooper published his first novel anonymously in 
1820, there was little in the book to indicate that American 
fiction, up to that time scanty and imitative, had been 
enriched by the advent of a prolific and decisively original 
writer. Of the various writers of fiction who preceded him, 
only two names retain any existence outside of the mauso- 
leums known as literary histories. These two are Charles 
Brockden Brown and Washington Irving. Irving began 
his career as a writer of fiction with the publication, in 
1819 of The Sketch Book; and like Cooper he remained a 
commanding figure almost up to the great struggle between 
the North and the South that finally cleared the path to 
national unity. But Irving, charming story-teller that he 
is, remained always a writer of comparatively brief tales, 
the incidents and feeling in which are local rather than 
national. He showed none of the imaginative seriousness 
and scope that enabled Cooper to grasp and render the 
n typical features of stage after stage in the epic of the 
conquest of the wilderness and the development of the 
scattered colonies into a continent-wide nation. Irving’s 
pages give no hint of a perception of the tragic struggle 
to come; little hint of the expenditure of virility that in a 
few years pushed the outposts of civilization from the sea- 
board to the Great Lakes. Brown, whose six novels 
appeared between 1798 and 1801, is notable for his use of 
the new world as the background of his stories. But in 
other ways Brown showed the prevailing American timidity 
which sought its models and standards abroad. From the 


v 


INTRODUCTION 


wi 

■current English novel of the day he copied some of its 
weaker features, exaggerated sentimentalism and a mechan- 
ical use of the mysterious and the terrible. Not until Poe 
set the stamp of his potent individuality on the elements of 
mystery and horror did they become sources of anything 
but weakness or mild humor for American literature. In 
1820 America still awaited a genuine novelist of scope and 
power and originality; and, making all due deductions for 
the obvious defects in his work, American literature found 
such a man in James Fenimore Cooper. 

Cooper’s most important novels are divisible into two 
groups: the Leatherstocking Tales, in which he sketches 
the conquest of the continent from forest and savage and 
wild beast; and the group of sea-tales which is headed by 
The Pilot. For the material of each of these groups he is 
indebted to his early life. Born in New Jersey in 1789, he 
was carried in 1790 into the wilds of New York. His 
father, William Cooper, who about 1805 boasted that he 
had settled “more acres than any man in America,” thus 
describes his first glimpse of the place in which Cooper 
passed his boyhood: “In 1785 I visited the rough and hilly 
country of Otsego, where there existed not an inhabitant 
nor any trace of a road. I was alone, three hundred miles 
from home, without bread, meat, or food of any kind . . . 
My horse fed on the grass that grew by the edges of the 
waters. I laid me down to sleep in my watch-coat, nothing 
but the melancholy wilderness about me.”* William Cooper 
had secured extensive grants of land in the county of 
Otsego, and in 1787 he laid out on the shores of Otsego 
Lake a village which he called Cooperstown. By 1796 he 
had prospered sufficiently to build a semi-baronial residence 
known as Otsego Hall. He was not only pioneer and land- 
lord; he was also a Judge and a Congressman. Over a 
motley population of trappers, traders, and settlers, includ- 
ing not only Americans but “broken men from Europe,” 
he held a sway that must have been founded in no small 
degree on strength of character. Around the growing village 

^Quoted in Clymer's Janies Fenimore Cooper. 


INTRODUCTION 


vii 

stretched the wilderness he and men like him were foot 
by foot reclaiming and turning to the settled uses of man. 
Here the young Cooper lived for nine years, his mind con- 
stantly being filled with the strong impressions such a set- 
ting would make on an imaginative youth. Nor did they 
ever lose their original vividness. Half a century later 
(1841) in The Deerslayer he showed that he still saw with 
the same vivid particularity that marked The Pioneers 
(1823) the pageant of virgin forest, lake and stream, the 
silent Indian threading his way amid the trees, and the 
skin-garbed trapper, rifle on shoulder. Natty Bumppo, he 
tells us, had no original except a certain leather-stockinged 
huntsman who brought game to Otsego Hall. 

The sea-tales too draw largely on his personal experi- 
ences. In 1805 Cooper, who had been three years in Yale, 
was expelled from college for irregularities culminating in 
a boyish prank. Much ingenuity has been wasted in the 
endeavor to prove that had Cooper been able to devote 
himself to his studies and finish his academic career, his 
novels would have been improved in many ways. The 
point is at least doubtful; the lack of systematic literary 
training is clear enough in Cooper’s work; but in a sense 
bookish culture would have interfered with the broad sim- 
plicity of his vision and manner. At any rate an additional 
year in college halls and the possession of a degree could 
never have made up to Cooper for the rich addition to his 
world of experience that came to him in the year following 
his expulsion. For the father now decided that his son 
should enter the navy, and as a preliminary he served 
for eleven months (1806-7) before the mast on the Stir- 
ling, trading to London and Gibraltar. They were event- 
ful months for Cooper, including as they did long and 
stormy passages across the Atlantic, a view of the Thames 
full of ships of war, and a narrow escape by the inter- 
vention of an English frigate from a Portuguese pirate. 
On January 1, 1808, he received his commission as a 
midshipman in the navy. He served until May, 1810, 
when he was granted a furlough of twelve months, at 
the expiration of which time, he resigned. He had mean- 


INTRODUCTION 


viii 

time been married, January 1, 1811, to Susan Augusta 
de Lancey (readers of The Spy will remember the allu- 
sions to the Tory leader de Lancey, who was a member 
of the family into whic^ Cooper married); and his resig- 
nation appears to have been largely due to his wife’s unwill- 
ingness to be separated from him. His term of service in 
the navy included a winter on Lake Ontario, building the 
brig Oneida; and some time on the Wasp, commanded by 
Lawrence, who later commanded the unfortunate Chesa- 
peake. The years at sea left with him impressions just as 
powerful and detailed as his impressions of the pioneer 
world. When, in 1822, some of his friends argued that 
Scott’s The Pirate, published anonymously the year before, 
must be the work of a man who had been much at sea, 
Cooper combatted the view, and finding his friendly oppo- 
nents unconvinced, decided to write a sea-story to prove his 
point. The result was The Pilot (1823), the first of a series 
of sea-tales in which Cooper showed not merely precise 
command of sea-terms and ability to use them without 
perplexing technicality, but the same soundness and scope 
of imagination that marked his other great series. Pre- 
ceded in this field by the eighteenth century novelist, 
Smollett, and by Scott, he outdid Scott in accuracy and 
supplied something entirely lacking in Smollett, a sense of 
the poetry of ocean life. Another of his innovations in 
this form is indicated by Professor Lounsbury; 

“Sailors, indeed, had been introduced into fiction, notably 
by Smollett, but in no case had there been exhibited the 
handling and movements of vessels, and the details of naval 
operations. During the last half century we have been so 
surfeited with the sea-story in every form, that most of us 
have forgotten the fact of its late origin, and that it is to 
Cooper that we owe its creation.” 

But Cooper’s first attempt at writing fiction shows no 
such originality and power as are evident in the sea-tales 
and the Leatherstocking Tales. This is natural enough 
when we consider the circumstances under which it was 
written. Cooper’s education had been irregular, and he 
had no intention of ever becoming a writer. He became 


INTRODUCTION 


1 


a novelist almost accidentally. In 1820 he was leading 
a rather aimless life as a “gentleman farmer,” in the 
town of Scarsdale, Westchester County, New York. One 
day, disgusted with an English novel which he was read- 
ing to his wife, he laid down the book with the remark, 
“I believe I could write a better story myself.” The jest 
became earnest with him when the few trial pages he 
wrote out won the approbation of his wife, and on 
November 10, 1820, he published anonymously his first 
novel. Precaution, a tale of English society. It is a feeble 
and uncertain book, “a compromise,” Professor Lounsburjr 
calls it, “between the purely fashionable novel and that col- 
lection of moral disquisitions of which Hannah More’s 
Cwlebs was the great exemplar.” Cooper knew nothing of 
English society; the mines he worked for incident and idea 
were not the rich mines of sea or pioneer life, which he 
knew so intimately at first-hand, but the pages of books 
from over-seas. Precaution received a few “fairly favor- 
able” notices in England; in America it had no success at 
all; nor did it deserve any. 

Cooper’s next publication. The Spy, published anony- 
mously in 1821, was a very different thing. Stirred by the 
reproaches of his friends that he, “an American in heart as 
in birth,” had turned for his setting and his subject to a 
foreign land, he determined, he tells us, “as the only atone- 
ment in his power, ... to inflict a second book, 
whose subject should admit of no cavil, not only on the 
world, but on himself. He chose patriotism for his theme.” 
The background he found in the surroundings of his own 
home in Westchester County, which had been the so-called 
neutral ground during the occupancy of New York by the 
British in the Revolution, a territory marched over and 
fought over by Royalist and Continental, Cowboy and 
Skinner. The stirring incidents of those years, ranging 
from pitched battle to robbery, arson, and murder, had been 
, made familiar to Cooper by nihny of his neighbors who had 
lived through them. “He used to go among the old farmers, 
and have them pass the evening with him, when, over the 
cider and hickory nuts in the parlor at Angevine, they 


2 


INTRODUCTION 


would tell him about the battle of White Plains and the 
skirmishes of the Cowboys, Hessians, and Skinners.”* For 
the central figure in the plot, he chose the hero of a narra- 
tive told him some years before by John Jay, who had been 
among the leading figures in the Revolution. The story of 
the humble patriot who would suffer even loss of reputa- 
tion for his country’s sake appealed pow^erfully to Cooper’s 
deep-seated patriotism. It appealed also to the nation at 
large, among whom the echoes of the Revolution still per- 
sisted. To the men and women of Cooper’s day, Washington 
and Sir Henry Clinton were not abstractions from a remote 
past; in the ears of many the tumult of the long struggle 
with the mother country still rang. The choice of theme 
and setting was fortunate for Cooper in another way, too. 
The story of Harvey Birch necessarily took the form of a 
story of incident, a stirring panorama in which fineness of 
detail mattered little. The mainj the indispensable point 
was to tell the tale rapidly, animatedly, sincerely; and this 
Cooper could do as well as any man then living except 
Scott. The result w^as an immediate success which made 
Cooper famous. We shall later examine The Spy in some 
detail as a typical example of Cooper’s art, of its merits and 
defects. Here, it is sufficient to say that its popularity was 
well founded; it has stood the test of tinae and of translation 
into foreign tongues. Mr. Lounsbury tells us of a French 
secret agent under Louis Plylippe who modeled himself on 
Harvey Birch; and of a Nicaraguan commandant who 
“regarded it [The Spy] as veritable history, and thought 
‘Senor Birch a most extraordinary personage and a model 
guerillero.’ ” 

Naturally Cooper now determined on a career as a man 
of letters. He removed to New York, where he became a 
leading figure in the social and literary world, and set 
busily to work. In 1823 he finished two volumes each of 
which gave him a new field to which he returned again 
and again with success. One was The Pioneers, the first in 
date of composition of the Leatherstocking Tales. In The 
Pioneers he reverted to the scenes of his boyhood and 

* Janies Fenimore Cooper, by W. B. S. Clymer. 


4 


INTRODUCTION 


3 


attempted to reproduce the frontier life of earlier days. The 
autobiographical element is strong; Judge Marmaduke 
Temple of Templeton has clearly some kinship with Judge 
William Cooper of Cooperstown; and Cooper said that 
though he could have chosen “for his subject happier 
periods, more interesting events, and possibly more' beau- 
teous scenes,” it would have been impossible to find a scene 
“that Xvould be so close to his heart.”* The other volumes 
in this series are, in the order of publication. The Last of 
the Mohicans, 1826; The Prairie, 1827; The Pathfinder, 
1840, and The Deerslayer, 1841. The series has a unity of 
two sorts, the first being provided by the appearance, in each 
book, at different stages of his life, of Natty Bumppo. In 
The Deerslayer, we have Bumppo’s youth on the shores of 
Otsego Lake; The Last of the Mohicans shows him still a 
young man, playing the role of scout in the French and 
Indian War; The Pathfinder deals with an episode of his 
middle life, on the shores of Ontario; in The Pioneers, 
written before Cooper himself was aware of the importance 
of the figure he had created, he appears as an old man 
more or less in the background of the tale; in The Prairie, 
his life draws to a close on the far Western plains whither 
he has fied before the civilization which he and his kind pre- 
pared for, but to which they could not adjust themselves. 
A far deeper unity is found in the fact that, taken col- 
lectively, these stories give, sincerely, yet with a graphic 
power ordinarily denied to formal histories, the story of the 
conquest of a continent, of the steady advance, among 
dangers and solitude, from the thin fringe of settlement 
on the Atlantic seaboard to the plains of the Middle West. 
Bumppo is one of the few real creations of literature. 
Lowell thought that Cooper had drawn but one character: 

. . . “and, the thing not to mince, 

He has done nought but copy it ill ever since; 

His Indians, with proper respect be it said, 

Are just Natty Bumppo, daubed over with red, 

And his very Long Toms are the same useful Nat, 
Rigged up in duck pants and a sou’wester hat.” 

*Jani€s Fenimore Cooper, T. R. Loiinslniry. 


4 


INTRODUCTION 


But even Lowell feels obliged to add: 

“The men who have given to one character life 
And objective existence, are not very rife; 

And Natty won’t go to oblivion quicker 
' Than Adams the parson or Primrose the vicar.” - 

This is pretty high praise.' Balzac spoke of the “gran- 
deur, the originality of Leatherstocking . . . born of 

the savage state and of civilization, who will last as long 
as literature lasts.” For the descriptive sweep of the 
series too, Balzac has high praise: “It is beautiful it is 
grand,” he said of The Pathfinder ; “I know no one save 
Walter Scott who has risen to that grandeur and severity 
of color.” And in ver.y truth, there is in the series as a 
whole a deep perception of the large and the fundamental 
in the story of our nation that may justly be said to have 
the quality of poetry. But one could miss both the quali- 
ties just praised and still feel that the series was entitled 
to high rank as mere narrative ; there are few better stories 
in any language. 

The second of the two books which he wrote in 1823 was 
The Pilot, the first of a long succession of sea-tales of 
which the most important are: The Red Rover, 1828; The 
Water Witch, 1830; The Two Admirals, 1842, and The Wing- 
and-Wing, 1842. They have no such underlying unity as is 
discernible in the Leatherstocking Tales. But here, as in 
his epic of the forest, an element of poetry is to be found; 
there is, Lowell to the contrary notwithstanding, force 
and originality in the conception of several figures, notably 
Long Tom Coffin; and there is vigor in incident and descrip- 
tion. “Cooper,” wrote Balzac, “owes the high place he 
holds in modern literature to two faculties.” One of them 
was “that of idealizing the magnificent landscapes of Amer- 
ica”; the other was “that of painting the sea and seamen.” 
Of the influence these tales had in making sea-stories a 
definite literary type we have already spoken. 

Cooper’s greatest books have all been mentioned above. 
In this brief introduction there is little space to speak of 
Cooper’s failures, such as Lionel Lincoln; or o£ his work as 


INTRODUCTION 


5 


a miscellaneous writer; or to deal with any but the most 
important of the events of his crowded life subsequent to 
his departure for Europe in 1826. In Europe he lived for 
about seven years and a half, during which time he wrote 
voluminously. Among his publications of this period 
are several novels constructed to prove the superiority of 
the republican form of government. When he returned 
to America in 1833 he continued writing didactic novels, 
the point of attack now being the flaws in American life 
and institutions. There are great didactic novels, but 
Cooper’s are not among them; and while literary historians 
and biographers must deal with this division of his work, 
the general public passes it over, feeling rightly enough 
that when a man has touched pretty nearly the high water 
mark in one fleld and the low water mark in another, it is 
kinder to the writer and more interesting to the reader to 
leave undisturbed the products of the lower level. 

Something similar may be said of the stormy contro- 
versies and the many bitter law suits Cooper indulged in 
during the eighteen years between his return from Europe 
and his death. Cooper was both thin-skinned and outspoken; 
he was an aristocrat by inclination and a democrat by 
theory; and he had an intense patriotism which made him 
intolerant in the presence of any defection on the part of 
his beloved country from what he thought her highest duty 
and destiny. When he returned from Europe he found 
what seemed to him evidences of such defections, and he 
spoke out sharply and at times inappropriately, with the 
result that his popularity vanished and he ahd his art 
became the subject of bitter invective in the newspapers. 
An unfortunate squabble between him and his fellow-towns- 
men in Cooperstown intensified his unpopularity and the 
harshness of the newspaper comment. Suit after suit he 
brought for slander, winning practically all. These things 
are important in securing a complete understanding of 
Cooper the man, but they did not influence that part of his 
work on which his fame is founded. He worked best when, 
free from the incumbrance of controversy, he was telling a 
purely imaginative story. Patriotism, the theme of The 


6 


INTRODUCTION 


Spy, he could and did develop into a thing of power; argu- 
ment in favor of the great land holders of New York and 
against the tenants, the theme of The Redskins, hampered 
his creative powers and harshened his tone. But the con- 
troversial novels, the law suits, and the invective of his 
later prefaces could not destroy his reputation; that was 
too firmly based on real achievement. And with the death 
of the issues involved the gallantry of his long fight in the 
face of an, unpopularity that must have been the more 
galling because of the earlier favor accorded him became 
recognized. We of today give weight again to his sturdy 
defense in Europe of things and principles American and 
see the patriot beneath the critic. Perhaps too, there has 
dawned some glimmering of the conception that he who 
declaims loudest the merits of himself and his people is 
not always the most sincere or far-sighted of men; that 
America must be judged not only by her virtues, but by her 
faults as well; and that, deducting duly for the acrid 
utterance inspired in part by personal circumstances, 
Cooper’s strictures deserved respectful consideration. 

He died in 1851, at Cooperstown. In the thirty-one years 
following the publication of Precaution, he had written 
thirty odd novels, an authoritative history of the navy, and 
numerous other productions; the number of titles listed 
under his name is seventy-one. The energy thus displayed 
is also marked in the vigorous features shown in portraits 
of him both as a youth and as an old man. But in writing, 
energy is worthless unless accompanied by other qualities 
— a power of thought and vision that reveals to the author 
the significant in life, both in the large and in the little: 
and a power of utterance that makes the reader accept as 
valid and interesting what the writer says. These powers 
Cooper h^id. He had also a high-mindedness that is seldom 
found except in writers of the first class, something of 
scope and seriousness denied to the minor author. To the 
group of writers of first importance Cooper seems to belong, 
and that in spite of many and obvious flaws in his literary 
art. “If Cooper,” said Balzac, “had succeeded in the paint- 
ing of character to the same extent that he did in the 


INTRODUCTION 


7 


painting of the phenomena of nature, he would have 
uttered the last word of our art.” 


II 

THE SPY 

It will- not he without value to examine The Spy as a 
more or less typical book; for, always excluding the rela- 
tively inferior didactic and controversial novels. Cooper’s 
method and manner, his merits and defects, remain much 
the same from first to last. Improvement in details there 
is, of course, as he goes on; an increase in maturity, cer- 
tainty, and largeness of conception; and also a widening of 
the stream of his interests. But what he fiatly could not do 
at the outset of his career he could not do at the end. And 
the sources of the spontaneity and interest and wholesome 
vigor of The Spy are also the sources of those qualities in 
The Deer slayer. 

The Spy was written, while Cooper was still ignorant that 
he had a future as a novelist, and while a book by an Amer- 
ican author was still felt, by publishers and public alike, to 
be a more or less daring and uncertain venture. Cooper, 
twenty-five years later, gave interesting testimony to this 
effect in an introduction to a revised edition of The Spy. 
He had, he said, attempted to revise the style of the book, 
but had found that there were “faults so interwoven with* 
the structure of the tale that, as in the case of a decayed 
edifice, it would cost perhaps less to reconstruct than to 
repair.” There had been, he says-^and he was right in say- 
ing it — a marked advance in literary taste in America in 
the twenty-five years following the publication of The Spy; 
he might justly have added that he himself was one of the 
chief forces that brought about the advance. But, he con- 
tinues, “so little was expected from the publication of an 
original work of this description, at the time it was writ- 
ten, that the first volume of The Spy was actually printed 
several months before the author felt a sufficient induce- 


8 


INTRODUCTION 


ment to write a line of the second.” Moreover, “As the 
second volume was slowly printing, from manuscript that 
was barely dry when it went into the compositors’ hands, 
the publisher intimated that the work might grow to a 
length that would consume the profits. To set his mind at 
rest, the last chapter was actually written, printed, and 
paged before the chapters which precede it were even 
thought of. This circumstance,” Cooper concludes, “while 
it cannot excuse, may serve to explain the manner in which 
the actors are hurried off the scene.” 

The defect in The Spy pointed out by Cooper — a scram- 
bling ending — is probably not felt as a defect by many; the 
tale seems to come to a natural pause. But the signs of 
haste are evident enough in other ways. There are occa- 
sional lapses in grammar; there is wordiness, the verbal 
padding that comes from a lack of instinctive feeling for 
the right word, so that at times sentences, even whole 
paragraphs, impress one as flat and nerveless. There is 
prolixity; some pages are cluttered with needless details. 
But these things, as well as Cooper’s occasional lapses in 
making his plot self-consistent in minor matters, are to be 
found in other writers who have never suffered such con- 
demnation for them as has Cooper. One and all they are 
to be found in Scott, for example. Indeed, they seem flaws 
inseparable from a certain type of writing — the work of 
men at once prolific and robust, whose manner is often 
marked by the quality Scott found most prominent in his 
own novels, and which is also prominent in Cooper’s — “a 
hurried frankness of composition.” Viewed in the large, 
such styles can carry off unnoticed the specks enumerated 
above; in the general forward rush of the waters of the 
action, minor defects such as these sink, to be dragged to 
the surface only by the critic self-consciously netting for 
them. 

Far more serious is his frequent stilted artificiality 
of phrase or feeling. We hear too often of “lovely females” 
and “the fair sex”; we meet stale bombast like “The eye 
of the young warrior flashed fire”; Henry Wharton does 
not say that he fought hard to keep out of the hands 


INTRODUCTION 


9 


of the enemy, but, “I strove nobly for my liberty.” 
Men do not talk in this way except in the artificial 
romances from which Cooper derived these and similar 
phrases. Prom those romances too, he derived the mock- 
glorious conception of what a hero should be that makes 
Dunwoodie, unarmed and facing a man with a loaded mus- 
ket, disdain “either to implore mercy or to retreat,” and 
cry, “If I am to be murdered, fire! I will never be your 
prisoner.” From the same turgid source came the false 
conception of feminine delicacy that makes Frances Peyton 
reject Dunwoodie because another woman loves him, and 
makes the “other woman,” lying at the point of death, 
mourn the plain-speaking by which she has cleared up the 
fatal error standing between Dunwoodie and Frances, “We 
are both motherless,” says Isabella, “but that aunt, that 
mild, plain-hearted, observing aunt, has,, given you the vic- 
tory. Oh! how much she loses, who loses a female guardian 
to her youth. I have exhibited those feelings which you 
have been taught to repress. After this, can I wish to 
live?” This is mere silliness of a sort familiar to every 
reader of the English sentimental novels which in some 
sense served Cooper as a model for love scenes. From the 
same source is the overwrought description of Isabella 
singing with which Cooper begins Chapter XV. 

But it would be unfair to lay all such faults in Cooper to 
his literary models. The general fiatness and imbecility of 
the women he puts forward for our admiration, washed-out 
specimens of an impossible “propriety,” are due in part to 
his exaggerated worship of “female delicacy,” in part to his 
comparative inefficiency as a painter of character. Except 
when he is dealing with important historical figures or 
with the strongly marked individualities of the humble, he 
draws character most unskillfully. With Washington and 
Betty Flanagan, for example. Cooper comes off very well 
indeed. But Heywood in The Last of the Mohicans and 
Dunwoodie in The Spy are alike not solely in being majors, 
but also in being mere conventional collections of attri- 
butes; young, brave, handsome, what else is there to say of 
them? What individual existence have they? This failing 


10 


INTRODUCTION 


however, like his slips in grammar, is often made too much 
of; for Cooper, whatever his minor flaws, was a flne artist 
in the larger sense; he knew what was required in the 
frame, he chose; his picture was not one of men and women 
first smoothed into uniformity by social friction and then 
neatly dissected and individualized again by the author. 
Cooper’s picture is one of actions, of large deeds, of masses 
of men and events; and in such pictures the most sketchy 
of character-drawing, so long as it be not palpably false, is 
usually sufficient. 

The feeble sense of humor shown by Cooper cannot be so 
excused. The heavy jocosity he spends on Sitgr^^es, for 
example, is truly tedious. Nor is it atoned for by any ability 
to present with the faithfulness and restraint that give 
carrying power, moments of heightened emotion. The 
accounts of Dunwoodie taking leave of his beloved before 
the battle, of Sarah made mad by her lover’s treachery, 
of Frances appealing to the president of the court that has 
condemned her brother to death, all leave us cold. They 
ring hollow, insincere. Yet there is a really impressive dig- 
nity about the account of the trial immediately preceding 
Frances’s melodramatic tears and gestures. In the trial 
scene Cooper is at home; for there he is not called upon for 
a nice sense of character or subtle shadings of phrase; the 
impressive march of the events is something he feels gen- 
uinely and renders powerfully. For that, his style is not 
only adequate; it is the appropriate method of utterance. 

Some of the qualities that brought The Spy immediate 
popularity and that keep Cooper in the best sense of the 
word a popular writer have already been noted. One is the 
“hurried frankness of composition” that, disregarding finesse 
of all sorts, marches sturdily forward, massing events 
solely with an eye to picturesqueness and to progress in the 
plot. Cooper is a master of direct and spirited narration; 
in all of his better books the tale flows easily, unimpeded 
by introspection, halting when necessary, moving with 
sweep and hurry when necessary. He keeps his reader 
keen to find out what is going to happen; and this is an 


INTRODUCTION 


11 


indispensable quality in good narration. Writers of far 
more delicate mental processes often lack it. 

Nor in Cooper’s case is it accompanied by any triviality. 
His spirit is robust, sane, manly; his subject matter is 
intrinsically important. The Revolution is a picture 
dimmed by time, of course; but it is still. significant* to us. 
Significant too is the patriotic fervor glowing through 
The Spy, the Leatherstocking Tales, and The Pilot. No 
nation can hope to do good literary work if it does not have 
an interest in itself, in its past as well as its present. Cooper 
threw into bright prominence certain important aspects of 
our early history; helped us to see the pageant of our 
progress as something both interesting and important. The 
use of an American setting in fiction is now an old story. 
When Cooper dared the venture it was a mark of triumph- 
ant originality. He modestly spoke of himself as a chip 
■ from Scott’s block. But in that epigram he was unfair to 
t himself; the historical novel was never the sole possession 
f or creation of Walter Scott. Cooper’s deep-seated love of 
i country combined with his broad artistry to give America 
f a place among the nations that have sat for their portrait 
\ at significant moments of their career. To the spirited 
I nature of that portrait youth pays ardent tribute; and 
I many a reader who returns to Cooper in later years, expect- 
t ing to find him thin and crude and outgrown, and finding 
in fact many flaws the earlier reading did not disclose, 

[ still discovers anew and in a deeper sense Cooper’s skill of 
; execution and vigor of conception. 


CHRONOLOGY 


In the following chronology only ^the chief events in 
Cooper’s life and the dates of publication of his most impor- 
tant books are given, 

1789. Born, September 15, at Burlington, New Jersey. 

1790. Taken to Cooperstown, on Otsego Lake, New York. 
1799. Became a private pupil of the rector of St. Peter’s, 

Albany. 

1802. Entered Yale. 

1805. Expelled from Yale. 

1806-7. For eleven months, before the mast, on the Stirling. 

1808. Commissioned January 1 as midshipman in the navy. 
1808-9. Spent the winter on Lake Ontario engaged in build- 
ing the war vessel Oneida. 

1809. Served on the Wasp. Death of his father, 

1810. Granted a furlough of twelve months. 

1811. Married to Susan Augusta de Lancey. Resigned from 

the navy. 

1820. Published Precaution. ' 

1821. Published The Spy. 

1822-6. Lived in New York. 

1823. Published The Pioneers and The Pilot. 

1826. Published The Last of the Mohicans.- 
1826-33. Lived in Europe. 

1827. Published The Prairie. 

1828. Published The Red Rover. 

1829. Published The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish. 

1830. Published The Water Witch. 

1831. Published The Bravo, the first of his didactic and 

controversial novels. ^ 

1833. Returned to America. 


CHRONOLOGY 


13 


1834. Published A Letter to His Countrymen. Repaired 
Otsego Hall, which was to be his permanent resi- 
dence. 

1837. Three Mile Point controversy with his fellow-citi- 
zens at Cooperstown, followed by many suits for 
libel. 

1839. Published The History of the Navy of the United 

States of America. 

1840. Published The Pathfinder and. Mercedes of Castile. 

1841. Published The Deerslayer. 

1842. Published The Tioo Admirals and The Wing-and- 

Wing. \ \ 

1851. Died at Cooperstown, September 14. 


IV 


BIBLIOaRAPHICAL NOTE 

Editions. The Household Edition; Houghton, Mifflin & 
Co.; contains introductions by Susan F. Cooper. The 
i Macmillan Edition; introduction by Mowbray Morris. 

Biographies and books and articles containing biograph- 
ical material. James Fenimore Cooper, by T. R. Lounsbury; 
Houghton, Mifflin & Co.; the authoritative biography; con- 
tains admirable critical sections. James Fenimore Cooper, 
by W. B. S. Clymer; Small, Maynard & Co.* Memorial of 
James Fenimore Cooper; G. P. Putnam; contains Bryant’s 
Discourse. Homes of American Authors, by Henry Tucker- 
man; G. P. Putnam. Pages and Pictures, by Susan F. 
Cooper; W. A. Townsend & Co. A Clarice Backtvard, and 
A Second Glance Backward, by Susan F. Cooper; Atlantic 
Monthly, February and October, 1887. 

Books containing critical articles. American Prose 
Masters, by W. C. Brownell; Charles Scribner’s Sons. 
Leading American Novelists, by John Erskine; Henry Holt 
and Co. Literary Leaders of America, by Richard Burton; 
Charles Scribner’s Sons. American Bookmen, by M. A. de 
Wolfe Howe; Dodd, Mead & Co. A Literary History of Amer- 
ica, by Barrett Wendell; Charles Scribner’s Sons. Amer- 
ican Literature, by A. G. Newcomer; Scott, Foresman & 
Co. Personal Opinions of Balzac, by Katharine Prescott 
Wormeley; Little, Brown & Co.; contains Balzac’s criticism 
of The Pathfinder. American Lands and Letters, by D. 
G. Mitchell; Charles Scribner’s Sons. 

See also the following magazines: North American Re- 
view, January, 1852, article by Francis Parkman; October, 
1859, article by H. T. Tuckerman; July, 1895, article by 
Mark Twain; Appleton's Journal, August 29, 1874; article 
by John Esten Cooke; The Dial, February 16, 1897, article 
by D. L. Maulsby. 


14 


AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION 


The author has often been asked if there were any 
foundation in real life, for the delineation of the principal 
character in this book. He can give no clearer answer to 
the question, than by laying before his readers a simple 
statement of the facts connected with its original pub- 
lication. 

Many years since, the WTiter of this volume was at the 
residence of an illustrious man, who had been employed in 
various situations of high trust during the darkest days of 
the American revolution. The discourse turned upon the 
effects which great political excitement produce on characr 
ter, and the purifying consequences of a love of country, 
when that sentiment is powerfully and generally awakened 
in a people. He who, from his years, his services, and his 
knowledge of men, was best qualified to take the lead in 
such a conversation, was the principal speaker. After 
dwelling on the marked manner in which the grhat struggle 
of the nation, during the war of 1775, had given a new 
and honourable direction to the thoughts and practices of 
multitudes whose time had formerly been engrossed by the 
most vulgar concerns of life, he illustrated his opinions by 
relating an anecdote, the truth of which he could attest 
as a personal witness. 

• The dispute between England and the United States of 
America, though not strictly a family quarrel, had many 
of the features of a civil war. The people of the latter 
were never properly and constitutionally subject to the 
people of the former, but the inhabitants of both countries 
owed allegiance to a common king. The American^ as a 
nation, disavowed this allegiance, and the English choosing 
to support their sovereign in the attempt to regain his 
power, most of the feelings of an internal struggle were 


16 


AUTHOR ’S INTRODUCTIOJv^ 


involved in the conflict. A large proportion of the emi- 
grants from Europe, then established in the colonies, took 
part with the crown; and there were many districts in 
which their influence, united to that of the Americans who 
refused to lay aside their allegiance, gave a' decided pre- 
ponderance to the royal cause. America was then too 
young, and too much in need of every heart and hand, to 
regard these partial divisions, small as they were in actual 
amount, with indifference. The evil was greatly increased 
by the activity of the English in profiting by these internal 
dissensions; and it became doubly serious when it was 
found that attempts were made to raise various corps of 
provincial troops, who were to be banded with those from 
Europe, to reduce the young republic to subjection. Con- 
gress named an especial and a secret committee, there- 
fore, for the express purpose of defeating this object. Of 

this committee Mr. , the narrator of the anecdote, was 

chairman. 

In the discharge of the novel duties which now devolved 

on him, Mr. had occasion to employ an agent whose 

services differed but little from those of a common spy. 
This man, as will easily be understood, belonged to a con- 
dition in life which rendered him the least reluctant to 
appear in so equivocal a character. He was poor, ignorant, 
so far as the usual instruction was concerned; but cool, 
shrewd, and fearless by nature. It was his office to learn 
in what part of the country the agents of the crown were 
making their efforts to embody men, to repair to the place, 
enlist, appear zealous in the cause he affected to serve, 
and otherwise to get possession of as many of the secrets 
of the enemy as possible. The last he of course communi- 
cated to his employers, who took all the means in their 
power to counteract the plans of the English, and frequently 
with success. 

It will readily be conceived that a service like this was 
attended with great personal hazard. In addition to the 
danger of discovery, there was the daily risk of falling 
into the hands of the Americans themselves, who invariably 
visited. sins of this nature more severely on the natives of 


AUTHOR ’S INTRODUCTION 


17 


the country than on the Europeans who fell into their 

hands. In fact, the agent of Mr. was several times 

arrested hy the local authorities; and, in one instance, he 
was actually condemned by his exasperated countrymen to 
the gallows. Speedy and private orders to his gaoler alone 
saved him from an ignominious death. He was permitted 
to escape; and this seeming, and indeed actual, peril was 
of great aid in supporting his assumed character among 
the English. By the Americans, in his little sphere, he was 
denounced as a bold and inveterate Tory. In this manner 
he continued to serve his country in secret during the early 
years of the struggle, hourly environed by danger, and the 
constant subject of unmerited opprobrium. 

In the year Mr. was named to a high and 

honourable employment at a European court. Before vacat- 
ing his seat in Congress, he reported to that body an outline 
of the circumstances related^ necessarily suppressing the 
name of his agent, and demanding an appropriation in 
behalf of a man who had been of so much use, at so great 
risk. A suitable sum was voted, and its delivery was 
confided to the chairman of the secret committee. 

Mr. took the necessary means to summon his agent 

to a personal interview. They met in a wood, at midnight. 

Here Mr. complimented his companion on his fidelity 

and adroitness; explained the necessity of their communi- 
cations being closed; and finally tendered the money. The 
other drew back, and declined receiving it. “The country 
has need of all its means,” he said; “as for myself, I can 
work, or gain a livelihood in various ways.” Persuasion 
was useless, for patriotism was uppermost in the heart of 

this remarkable individual; and Mr. departed, bearing 

with him the gold he had brought, and a deep respect for 
the man who had so long hazarded his life, unrequited, for 
the cause they served in common. 

The writer is under an impression that, at a later day, 

the agent of Mr. consented to receive a remuneration 

for what he had done; but it was not until his country 
was entirely in a condition to bestow it. 

It is scarcely necessary to add, that an anecdote like this. 


18 


AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION 


simply but forcibly told by one of its principal actors, made 
a deep impression on all who heard it. Many years later, 
circumstances, which it is unnecessary to relate, and of an 
entirely adventitious nature, induced the writer to publish 
a novel, which proved to be, what he little foresaw at the 
time, the first of a tolerably long series. The same' adventi- 
tious causes which gave birth to the book, determined its 
scene and its general character. The former was laid in a 
foreign country; and the latter embraced a crude effort to 
describe foreign manners. When this tale was published, 
it became matter, of reproach among the author’s friends, 
that he, an American in heart as in birth, should give to 
the world a work which aided perhaps, in some slight de- 
gree, to feed the imaginations of the young and unpractised 
among his own countrymen, by pictures drawn from a state . 
of society so different from that to which he belonged. The 
writer, while he knew how much of what he had done was 
purely accidental, felt the reproach to be one that, in a 
measure, was just. As the only atonement in his power, 
he determined to inflict a second book, whose subject should 
admit of no cavil, not only on the world, but on himself. 
He chose patriotism for his theme; and to those who read 
this introduction and the book itself, it is scarcely neces- 
sary to ad.d, that he took the hero of the anecdote just 
related as the best illustration of his subject. 

Since the original publication of “The Spy,” there have 
appeared several accounts of different persons who are 
supposed to have been in the author’s mind while writing 

the book. As Mr. did not mention the name of his 

agent, the writer never knew any more of his identity with 
this or that individual, than has been here explained. Both 
Washington and Sir Henry Clinton had an unusual number 
of secret emissaries; in a war that partook so much of a 
domestic character, and in which the contending parties 
were people of the same blood and language, it could 
scarcely be otherwise. 

The style of the book has been revised by the author in 
this edition. In this respect, he has endeavoured to make ► 
it more worthy of the favour with which it has been re-* 


AUTHOR 'S INTRODUCTION 


19 


ceived; though he is compelled to admit there are faults 
so interwoven with the structure of the tale that, as in the 
case of a decayed edifice, it would cost perhaps less to 
reconstruct than to repair. Five-and-twenty years have 
been as ages with most things connected With America. 
Among other advances, that of her literature has not been 
the least. So little was expected from the publication of 
an original work of this description, at the time it was 
written, that the first volume of “The Spy” was actually 
printed several months, before the author felt a sufficient 
inducement to write a line of the second. The efforts 
expended on a hopeless task are rarely worthy of him who 
makes them, however, low it may be necessary to rate the 
standard of his general merit. 

One other anecdote connected with the history of this 
' book, may give the reader some idea of the hopes of an 
American author, in the first quarter of the present century. 
As the second volume was slowly printing, from manuscript 
that was barely dry when it went into the compositor’s 
hands, the publisher intimated that the work might grow 
to a length that would consume the profits. To set his mind 
at rest, the last chapter was actually written, printed, and 
paged several weeks before the chapters which precede it 
were even thought of. This circumstance, while it cannot 
excuse, may serve to explain the manner in which the 
actors are hurried off the scene. 

A great change has come over the country since this book 
was originally written. The nation is passing from the 
gristle into the bone, and the common mi^d is beginning 
to keep even pace with the growth of the body politic. The 
march from Vera Cruz to Mexico was made under the 
orders of that gallant soldier who, a quarter of a century 
before, was mentioned with honour, in the last chapter of 
this very book. Glorious as was that march, and brilliant 
as were its results in a military point of view, a stride 
was then made by the nation, in a moral sense, that has 
hastened it by an age, in its progress toward real independ- 
ence and high political influence. The guns that filled the 
valley of the Aztecs with their thunder, have been heard 


20 


AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION 


in echoes on the other side of the Atlantic, producin 
equally hope or apprehension. 

There is now no enemy to fear, but the one that residt 
within. By accustoming ourselves to regard even tt • 
people as erring beings, and by using the restraints ths . 
wisdom has adduced from experience, there is much reasc 
to hope that the same Providence which has so well aided 
us in our infancy, may continue to smile on our manhoo 


J. Fenimore Cooper. 


COOPERSTOWN, 

March 20, 1849. 


9 


\ 


/ 



THE SPY 


\ 


CHAPTER I 

And though amidst the calm of thought entire, 

Some high and haughty features might betray 
A soul impetuous once — T avus earthly fire 
That fled composure's intellectual ray, 

As Etna’s fires grow dim before the rising day. 

Gertrude of Wyoming. 

It was near the close of the year 1780, that a solitary 
traveller was seen pursuing his way through one of they 
numerous little valleys of We^t-Chester.* The easterly 
wind, with its chilling dampness and increasing violence, 
gave unerring notice of the approach of a storm, which as 
usual might be expected to continue for several days: and 
the experienced eye of the traveller was turned in vain, 
through the darkness of the evening, in quest of some con- 
venient shelter, in which, for the term of his confinement 
by the rain that already began to mix with the atmosphere 
in a thick mist, he might obtain such accommodations as 
his’ purposes required. Nothing however offered but the 
small and inconvenient tenements of the lower order of 
the inhabitants, with whom, in that immediate neighbour- 
hood, he did not think it either safe or politic to trust 
himself. 

The county of West-Chester, after the British had ob-’ 

♦ As each state of the American Union has its own counties, it 
often happens that there are several which bear the same name. 
The scene of this tale is in New York, whose county of West-Chester 
is the nearest adjoining to the city. 

[This and all other footnotes were written by Cooper himself.] 


21 


22 


THE SPY 


tained possession of the island of New York,* became 
common ground, in which both parties continued to act 
for the remainder of the war of the revolution. A large 
proportion of its inhabitants, either restrained by their 
attachments, or influenced by their fears, affected a neu- 
trality they did not feel. The lower towns were, of course, 
more particularly under the dominion of the crown, w’-ile 
the upper, finding a security from the vicinity of the 
continental troops, were bold in asserting their revolu- 
tionary opinions, and their right to govern themselves. 
Great numbers, however, wore masks, which even to this 
day have not been thrown aside; and many an individual 
has gone down to the tomb, stigmatised as a foe to the 
rights of his countrymen, while, in secret, he has been the 
useful agent of the leaders of the revolution; and, on the 
other hand, could the hidden repositories of divers flaming 
patriots have been opened to the light of day, royal protec- 
tions would have been discovered concealed under piles of 
British gold. 

At the sound of the tread of the noble horse ridden by 
the traveller, the mistress of the farm-house he was passing 
at the time might be seen cautiously opening the door of 
the bviilding to examine the stranger; and perhaps, with an 
averted face, communicating the result of her observations 
to her husband, who, in the rear of the building, was pre- 
pared to seek, if necessary, his ordinary place of conceal- 
ment in the adjacent woods. The valley was situated about 
mid-way in the length of the county, and was sufficiently 
near to both armies to make the restitution of stolen goods 
no uncommon occurrence in that vicinity. It is true, the 
same articles were not always regained; but a summary 

* The city of New York is situated on an island called Manhat- 
tan ; but it is, at one point, separated from the county of West- 
chester by a creek of only a few feet in width. The bridge at this 
spot is called King’s Bridge. It was the scene of many skirmishes 
during the war, and is alluded to in this tale. Every Manhattanesc 
knows the difference between “Manhattan Island” and “the island 
of Manhattan.” The first is applied to a small district in the* 
vicinity of Corlaer’s Hook, while the last embraces the whole island, 
or the city and county of New york, as it is termed in the laws. 


THE SPY 


23 


substitute was generally resorted to, in the absence of legal 
justice, which restored to the loser the amount of his loss, 
and frequently with no inconsiderable addition for the 
temporary use of his property. In short, the law was 
momentarily extinct in that particular district, and justice 
was administered subject to the bias of personal interests,' 
anr ’’he passions of the strongest. 

The passage of a stranger, with an appearance of some- 
what doubtful character, and mounted on an animal which, 
although unfurnished with any of the ordinary trappings 
of war, partook largely of the bold and upright carriage 
that distinguished his rider, gave rise to many surmises 
among the gazing inmates of the different habitations; and 
in some instances, where conscience was more than ordi- 
narily awake, to no little alarm. 

Tired with the exercise of a day of unusual fatigue, and 
anxious to obtain a speedy shelter from the increasing vio- 
lence of the storm, that now began to change its character 
to large drops of driving rain, the traveller determined, as 
a matter of necessity, to make an application for admission 
to the next dwelling that offered. An opportunity was not 
long wanting; and, riding through a pair of neglected bars, 
he knocked loudly at the outer door of a building, of a very 
humble exterior, without quitting his saddle. A female of 
middle age, with an outward bearing but little more pre- 
possessing than that of her dwelling, appeared to answer 
the summons. The startled woman half closed her door 
again in affright, as she saw, by the glare of a large wood 
fire, a mounted man so unexpectedly near its threshold; 
and an expression of terror mingled with her natural 
curiosity, as she required his pleasure. , 

Although the door was too nearly closed to admit of a 
minute scrutiny of the accommodations within, enough had 
been seen to cause the horseman to endeavour, once more, 
to penetrate the gloom, with longing eyes, in search of a 
more promising roof, before, with an ill-concealed reluc- 
tance, he stated his necessities and wishes. His request 
was listened to with evident unwillingness, and, while yet 
unfinished, it was eagerly interrupted by the reply— 


24 


THE SPY 


“I can’t say I like to give lodgings to a stranger in these 
ticklish times,” said the female in a pert sharp key; “I’m 
nothing but a forlorn lone body; or, what’s the same thing, 
there’s nobody but the old gentleman at home; but a half 
mile further up the road is a house where you can get 
entertainment, and that for nothing. I am sure. ’twill be 
much convenienter to them, and more agreeable to me; 
because, as I said before, Harvey is away — I wish he’d 
take advice, and leave off wandering; he’s well to do in 
the world, by this time; and he ought to leave off his 
uncertain courses, and settle himself, handsomely, in life, 
like other men of his years and property. But Harvey 
Birch will have his own way, and die vagabond after all!” 

The horseman did not wait to hear more than the advice 
to pursue his course up the road; but he had slowly turned 
his horse towards the bars, and was gathering the folds 
of an ample cloak around his manly form, preparatory to 
facing the storm again, when something in the speech of 
the female suddenly arrested the movement. 

“Is this, then, the dwelling of Harvey Birch?” he in- 
quired, in an involuntary manner, apparently checking 
himself, as he was about to utter more. 

“Why, one can hardly say it is his dwelling,” replied the 
other, drawing a hurried breath, like one eager to answer; 
“he is never in it, or so seldom, that I hardly remember his 
face, when he does think it worth while to show it to his 
poor old father and me. But it matters little to me, I’m 
sure, if he ever comes back again, or not; — turn in the 
first gate on your left; — no, I care but little, for my part, 
whether Harvey ever shows his face again or not — not 
I ; ” — and she closed the door abruptly on the horseman, who 
gladly extended his ride a half mile further, to obtain lodg- 
ings which promised both more comfort and greater security. 

Sufficient light yet remained to enable the traveller to 
^distinguish the improvements* which had been made in the 

* The word “improvements” is used by the Americans to express 
every degree of change in converting land from its state of wilder- 
ness to that of cuitivation. In this meaning of the word it is an 
improvement to fell the trees ; and it is valued precisely by the 
supposed amount of the cost. 


THE SPY 


25 


cultivation, and in the general appearance of the grounds 
around the building to which he was now approaching. 
The house was of stone, long, low, and with a small wing 
at each extremity. A piazza, extending along the front, 
with neatly turned pillars of wood, together with the good 
order and preservation of the fences and out-buildings, gave 
the place an air altogether superior to the common farm- 
houses of the country. After leading his horse behind an 
angle of the wall, where it was in some degree protected 
from the wind and rain, the traveller threw his vallise 
over his arm, and knocked loudly at the entrance of the 
building for admission. An aged black soon appeared; and 
without seeming to think it necessary, under the circum- 
stances, to consult his superiors — first taking one prying 
look at the applicant, by the light of the candle in his 
hand — he acceded to the request for accommodations. The 
traveller was shown into an extremely neat parlour, where 
a fire had been lighted to cheer the dulness of an easterly 
storm, and an October evening. After giving the vallise 
into the keeping of his civil attendant, and politely repeat- 
ing his request to the old gentleman, who arose to receive 
him, and paying his compliments to the three ladies who 
were seated at work with their needles, the stranger com- 
menced laying aside some of the outer garments which he 
had worn in his ride. 

On taking an extra handkerchief from his neck, and 
removing a cloak of blue cloth, with a surtout of the same 
material, he exhibited to the scrutiny of the observant 
family party, a tall and extremely graceful person, of 
apparently fifty years of age. — His countenance evinced a 
settled composure and dignity; his nose was straight, and 
approaching to Grecian; his eye, of a grey colour, was quiet; 
thoughtful, and rather melancholy; the mouth and lower 
part of his face being expressive of decision and much 
character. His dress, being suited to the road, was simple 
and plain, but such as was worn by the higher class of his 
countrymen; he wore his own hair, dressed in a manner 
that gave a military air to his appearance, and which was 
rather heightened by his erect and conspicuously graceful 


26 


THE SPY 


carriage. His whole appearance was so impressive and so 
decidedly that of a gentleman, that as he finished laying 
aside the garments, the ladies arose from their seats, and, 
together with the master of the house, they received anew, 
and returned the complimentary* greetings which were 
again offered. 

The host was by several years the senior of the traveller, 
and by his manner, dress, and every thing around him, 
showed he had seen much of life and the best society. The 
ladies were, a maiden of forty, and two much younger, 
who did not seem, indeed, to have reached half those years. 
The bloom of the elder of these ladies had vanished, but 
her eyes anci fine hair gave an extremely agreeable expres- 
sion to her countenance; and there was a softness and an 
affability in her deportment, that added a charm many 
more juvenile faces do not possess. The sisters, for such 
the resemblance between the younger females denoted 
them to be, were in all the pride of youth, and the roses, 
so eminently the property of the West-Chester fair, glowed 
on their cheeks, and lighted their deep blue eyes with that 
lustre which gives so much pleasure to the beholder, and 
which indicates so much internal innocence and peace. 
There was much of that feminine delicacy in the appear- 
ance of the three, which distinguishes the sex in this 
country; and, like the gentleman, their demeanour proved 
them to be women of the higher order of life. 

After handing a glass of excellent Madeira to his guest, 
Mr. Wharton, for so was the owner of this retired estate 
called, resumed his seat by the fire, with another in his 
own hand. For a moment he paused, as if debating with 
his politeness, but at length threw an enquiring glance on 
the stranger, as he enquired — 

“To whose health am I to have the honour of drinking?” 

The traveller had also seated himself, and he sat uncon- 
sciously gazing on the fire, while Mr. Wharton spoke; 
turning his eyes slowly on his host with a look of close 
observation, he replied, while a faint tinge gathered on his 
features — 


“Mr. Harper.” 


THE SPY 


27 


“Mr. Harper,” resumed the other, with the formal pre- 
cision of that day, “1 have the honour to drink your health, 
and to hope you will sustain no injury from the rain to 
which you have been exposed.” 

Mr. Harper bowed in silence to the compliment, and he 
soon resumed the meditations from which he had been 
interrupted, and for which the long ride he had that day 
made, in the wind, might seem a very natural apology. 

The young ladies had again taken their seats beside the 
workstand, while their aunt. Miss Jeanette Peyton, with- 
drew, to superintend the preparations necessary to appease 
the hunger of their unexpected visitor. A short silence 
prevailed, during which Mr. Harper was apparently enjoy- 
ing the change in his situation, when Mr. Wharton again 
broke it, by enquiring whether smoke was disagreeable to 
his companion; to which, receiving an answer in the nega- 
tive, he immediately resumed the pipe which had been laid 
aside at the entrance of the traveller. 

There was an evident desire on the part of the host to 
enter into conversation, but either from an apprehension 
of treading on dangerousv ground, or an unwillingness to 
intrude upon the rather studied taciturnity of his guest, 
he several times hesitated, before he could venture to make 
any further remark. At length, a movement from Mr. 
Harper, as he raised his eyes to the party in the room, 
encouraged him to proceed. 

“I find it very difficult,” said Mr. Wharton, cautiously 
avoiding, at first, such subjects as he wished to introduce, 
“to procure that quality of tobacqo for my evenings’ amuse- 
ment, to which I have been accustomed.” 

“I should think the shops in New York might furnish the 
best in the country,” calmly rejoined the other. 

“Why — yes,” returned the host, in rather a hesitating 
manner, lifting his eyes to the face of Harper, and lowering 
them quickly under his steady look, “there must be plenty 
in town; but the war has made communication with the 
city, however innocent, too dangerous to be risked for so 
trifling an article as tobacco.” 

The box from which Mr. Wharton had just taken a 


28 


THP] SPY 


supply for his pipe was lying open, within a few inches of 
the elbow of Harper, who took a small quantity from its 
contents, and applied it to his tongue, in a manner per- 
fectly natural, but one that filled his companion with alarm. 
Without, however, observing that the quality was of the 
most approved kind, the traveller relieved his host by 
relapsing again into his meditations. Mr. Wharton now 
felt unwilling to lose the advantage he had gained, and. 
making an effort of more than usual vigour, he continued — 
“I wish, from the bottom of my heart, this unnatural 
struggle was over, that we might again meet our friends 
and relatives in peace and love.” 

“It is much to be desired,” said Harper, emphatically, 
again raising his eyes to the countenance of his host. 

“I hear of no movement of consequence, since the arrival 
of our new allies,” said Mr. Wharton, shaking the ashes 
from his pipe, and turning his back to the other, under the 
pretence of receiving a coal from his youngest daughter. 
“None have yet reached the public, I believe.” 

“Is it thought any important steps are about to be 
taken?” continued Mr. Wharton, still occupied with his 
daughter, yet unconsciously suspending his employment, 
in expectation of a reply. 

“Is it intimated any are in agitation?” j 

“Oh! nothing in particular; but it is natural to expect j 
some new enterprise from so powerful a force as that j 
under Rochambeau.” i 

Harper made an assenting inclination with his head, but ! 
no other reply, to this remark; while Mr. Wharton, after i 
lighting his pipe, resumed the subject. .<1 

“They appear more active ‘in the south ; Gates and Corn- j 
Avallis seem willing to bring the war to an issue, there.” } 
The brow of Harper contracted, and a deeper shade of i 
melancholy crossed his features; his eye kindled with a| 
transient beam of fire, that spoke a latent source of deep 
feeling. The admiring gaze of the younger of the sisters 
had baiely time to read its expression, before it passed 
away, leaving In its room the acquired composure which 
marked the countenance of the stranger, and that impres- 

I i 

- ' J 


THE SPY 


29 


sive dignity which so conspicuously denotes the empire of 
, reason. 

The elder sister made one or two movements in her chair, 
before she ventured to say, in a tone which partook in no 
small measure of triumph — 

“General Gates has*bedn less fortunate with the Earl, 
than with General Burgoyne.” 

“But General Gates is an Englishman, Sarah,” cried the 
younger lady, with quickness; then, colouring to the eyes 
at her own boldness, she employed herself in tumbling over 
the contents of her work-basket, silently hoping the remark 
would be unnoticed. 

The traveller had turned his face from one sister to the 
other, as they had spoken in succession, and an almost 
imperceptible movement of the muscles of his mouth be- 
trayed a new emotion, as he playfully enquired of the 
younger — 

“May I venture to ask, what inference you would draw 
from that fact?” 

Frances blushed yet deeper at this direct appeal to her 
opinions upon a subject on which she had incautiously 
spoken in the presence of a stranger; but, finding an 
answer necessary, after .some little hesitation, and with a 
good deal of stammering in her manner, she replied — 

“Only — only — sir, — my sister and myself sometimes differ 
in our opinions of the prowess of the British.” A smile of 
much meaning played on a face of infantile innocency, as 
she concluded. 

“On what particular points of their prowess do you 
differ?” continued Harper, meeting her look of animation 
with a smile of almost paternal softness. 

“Sarah thinks the British are never beaten, while I do 
not put so much faith in their invincibility.” 

The traveller listened to her with that pleased indulgence, 
with which virtuous age loves to contemplate, the ardour of 
youthful innocence; but making no reply, he turned to the 
fire, and continued for some time gazing on its embers, in 
silenqe. 

Mr. Wharton had in vain endeavoured to pierce the dis- 


30 


THE SPY 


guise of his guest’s political feelings; but, while there was 
nothing forbidding in his countenance, there was nothing 
communicative; on the contrary, it was strikingly reserved, 
and the master of the house arose, in profound ignorance 
of what, in those days, was the most material point in the 
character of his guest, to lead the w^ay into another room, 
and to the supper table. Mr. Harper offered his hand to 
Sarah Wharton, and they entered the room together; while 
Frances followed, greatly at a loss to know, whether she 
had not wounded the feelings of her father’s inmate.' 

The storm began to rage with great violence without; 
and the dashing rain on the sides of the building awakened 
that silent sense of enjoyment, which is excited by such 
sounds in a room of quiet comfort and warmth, when a 
loud summons at the outer door again called the faithful 
black to the portal. In a minute the servant returned, and 
informed his master that another traveller, overtaken by 
the storm, desired to be admitted to the house for a shelter 
through the night. 

At the first sounds of the impatient summons of this new ' 
applicant, Mr. Wharton had risen from his seat in evident 
uneasiness; and, with eyes glancing with quickness from 
his guest to the door of the room, he seemed to be expecting 
something to proceed from this second interruption, con- 
nected w’ith the stranger who had occasioned the first. He 
scarcely had time to bid the black, with, a faint voice, to 
show this second comer in, before the door was thrown 
hastily open, and the stranger himself entered the apart- 
, ment. He paused a moment, as the person of Harper met 
his view, and then, in a more formal nianner, repeated the 
request he had before made through the servant. Mr. 
Wharton and his family disliked the appearance of this . 
new visitor excessively; but the inrlem ncy of the weather, 
and the uncertainty of consequences, if he were refused 
the desired lodgings, , compelled the eld gentleman to give 
a reluctant acquiescence. 

Some of the dishes were replacec/by the orders of Miss 

Peyton, and the weather-beaten intruder was invited to j 

i 

> 

.1 


THE SPY 


31 


I partake of the remains of the repast, from which the party 
I had just risen. Throwing aside a rough great-coat, he very 
I composedly took the offered chair, and unceremoniously 
: proceeded to allay the cravings of an appetite, which ap- 
; peared by no means delicate. But at every mouthful he 
would turn an unquiet eye on Harper, who studied his 
. appearance with a closeness of investigation, that was very 
embarrassing to its subject. At length, pouring out a glass 
of wine, the new comer nodded significantly to his exam- 
: iner, previously to swallowing the liquor, and said, with 
something of bitterness in his manner — 

, “I drink to our better acquaintance, sir; I believe this is 
; the first time we have met, though your attention would 
seem to say otherwise.” 

The quality of the wine seemed greatly to his fancy, for, 
on replacing the glass upon the table, he gave his lips a 
I smack, that resounded through the room; and, taking up 
; the bottle, he held it between himself and the light, for a 
moment, in silent contemplation of its clear, and brilliant 
H colour. 

I ‘T think we have never met before, sir,” replied Harper, 
W with a slight smile on his features, as he observed the 
J movements of the other; but appearing satisfied with his 
I scrutiny, he turned to Sarah Wharton, who sat next him, 
and carelessly remarked — 

f “You, doubtless, find your present abode solitary, after 
I being accustomed to the gayeties of the city.” 
r “Oh! excessively so,” said Sarah, hastily. “I do wish, 
|f with my father, that this cruel war was /at an end, that 
1 we might return to our friends once more.” 

I “And you. Miss Frances, do you long as ardently for 
peace as your sister?” 

“Oh many accounts I certainly do,” returned the other, 
venturing to steal a timid glance at her interrogator; and, 
meeting the same benevolent expression of feeling as be- 
^ fore, she continued, as her own face lighted into one of 
its animated and bright smiles of intelligence, “but not at 
1 the expense of the rights of my countrymen.” 

“Rights!” repeated her sister, impatiently; “whose rights 


32 


THE SPY 


can be stronger than those of a sovereign; and what duty 
is clearer, than to obey those who have a natural right to 
command?” 

“None, certainly,” said Frances, laughing with great 
pleasantry; and, taking the hand of her sister affection- 
ately within both of her own, she added, with a smile 
directed towards Harper — 

“I gave you to understand, that my sister and myself 
differed in our political opinions; but we have an impartial 
umpire in my father, who loves his own countrymen, and 
he loves the British, — so he takes sides with neither.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Wharton, in a little alarm, eyeing first 
one guest, and then the other; “I have near friends in both 
armies, and I dread a victory by either, as a source of 
certain private misfortune.” 

“I take it, you have little reason to apprehend much 
from the Yankees, in that way;” interrupted the guest at 
the table, coolly helping himself to another glass, from the 
bottle he had admired. 

“His Majesty may have more experienced troops than 
the continentals,” answered the host fearfully, “but the 
Americans have met wij:h distinguished success.” 

Harper disregarded the observations of both; and, rising, 
he desired to be shown to his place of rest. A small boy 
was directed to guide him to his room; and wishing a 
courteous good-night to the whole party, the traveller with- 
drew. The knife and fork fell from the hands of the 
unwelcome intruder, as the door closed on the retiring 
figure of Harper; — he arose slowly from his seat; — listen- 
ing attentively, he approached the door of the room — 
opened it — seemed to attend to the retreating footsteps of 
the other — and, amidst the panic and astonishment of his 
companions, he closed it again. In an instant, the red wig 
which concealed his black locks, the large patch, which hid 
half his face from observation, the stoop, that had made 
him appear fifty years of age, disappeared. 

“My father! — my dear father!” — cried the handsome 
young man; “and you, my dearest sisters and aunt! — have 
I at last met you, again?” 

“Heaven bless , you, my Henry, my son!” exclaimed the 


THE SPY 


33 


astonished, but delighted parent; while his sisters sunk on 
his shoulders, dissolved in tears. 

The faithful old black, who had been reared from infancy 
in the house of his master, and who, as if in mockery of his 
degraded state, had been complimented with the name of 
Caesar, was the only other witness of this unexpected dis- 
covery of the son of Mr. Wharton. After receiving the 
extended hand of his young master, and imprinting on it a 
fervent kiss, Caesar withdrew. The boy did nnt re-enter 
the room; and the black himself, after some time, returned, 
just as the young British captain was exclaiming — 

“But who is this Mr. Harper? — is he likely to betray 
me?” 

“No — no — no — Massa Harry,” cried the negro, shaking 
his grey head confidently; “I been to see — Massa Harper 
on he knee — pray to God — no gemman who pray to God, tell 
of good son, come to see old fader — Skinner do that — no 
Christian!” 

This poor opinion of the Skinners was not confined to 
Mr. Caesar Thompson, as he called himself — but Caesar 
Wharton, as he was styled by the little world to which he 
was known. The convenience, and perhaps the necessities, 
of the leaders of the American arms, in the neighbourhood 
of New York, had induced them to employ certain sub- 
ordinate agents, of extremely irregular habits, in executing 
their lesser plans of annoying the enemy. It was not a 
moment for fastidious enquiries into abuses of any descrip- 
tion, and oppression and injustice were the natural conse- 
quences of the possession of a military power that was 
uncurbed by the restraints of civil authority. In time, a 
distinct order of the community was formed, whose sole 
occupation appears to have been that of relieving their 
fellow-citizens from any little excess of temporal prosperity 
they might be thought to enjoy, under the pretence of 
patriotism, and the love of liberty. 

Occasionally, the aid of military authority was not want- 
ing, in enforcing these arbitrary distributions of worldly 
goods; and a petty holder of a commission in the state 
militia was to be seen giving the sanction of something 


34 


THE SPY 


like legality to acts of the most unlicensed robbery, and, 
not infrequently, of bloodshed. 

On the part of the British, the stimulus of loyalty was 
by no means suffered to sleep, where so fruitful a field 
offered, on which it might be expended. But their free- 
booters were enrolled, and their efforts more systematised. 
Long experience had taught their leaders the efficacy of 
concentrated force; and, unless tradition does great in- 
justice to their exploits, the result did no little credit to 
their foresight. The corps — we presume, from their known 
affection to that useful animal — had received the quaint 
appellation of “Cow-Boys.” 

Csesar was, however, far too loyal to associate men, who 
held the commission of George III., with the irregular 
warriors, whose excesses he had so often witnessed, and 
from whose rapacity, neither his poverty nor his bondage 
had suffered even him to escape uninjured. The Cow- 
Boys, therefore, did not receive their proper portion of the 
black’s censure, when he said, no Christian, nothing but a 
“Skinner,” could betray a pious child, while honouring his 
father with a visit so full of peril. 


( 


CHAPTER II 

^ I 

And many a halycon day he liv’d to see 
Unbroken, but by one misfortune dire, 

When fate had reft his mutual heart — but she 
Was gone — and Gertrude climb’d a widow’d father’s knee. 
^ Gertrude of Wyoming. 

The father of Mr. Wharton was a native of England, and 
of a family whose parliamentary interest had enabled them 
to provide for a younger son in the colony of New York. 
The young man, like hundreds of others in, his situation, 
had settled permanently in the country. He married; and 
the sole issue of his connexion had been sent early in life 
to receive the benefits of the English schools. After taking 
his degrees at one of the universities of the mother country, 
the youth had been suffered to acquire a knowledge of life 
with the advantages of European society. But the death of 
his father recalled him, after passing two years in this 
manner, to the possession of an honourable name, and a 
very ample estate. 

It was much the fashion of that day to place the youth 
of certain families in the army or navy of England, as the 
regular stepping-stones to preferment. Most of the higher 
offices in the colonies were filled by men who had made 
arms their profession; and it was even no uncommon sight 
to see a veteran warrior laying aside the sword to assume 
the ermine on the benches of the highest judicial authority. 

In conformity with this system, the senior Mr. Wharton 
had intended his son for a soldier; but a natural imbecility 
of character in his child interfered with his wishes. 

A twelvemonth had been spent by the young man in 
weighing the comparative advantages of the different 
classes of troops, when the death of his father occurred. 
The ease of his situation, and the attentions lavished upon 
a youth in the actual enjoyment of one of the largest estates 

35 


36 


THE SPY 


in the colonies, interfered greatly with his ambitious 
projects. Love decided the matter; and Mr. Wharton, in 
becoming a husband, ceased to think of becoming a soldier. 
For many years he continued happy in his family, and 
sufficiently respected by his countrymen, as a man of 
integrity and consequence, when all his enjoyments van- 
ished, as it were, at a blow. His only son, the youth 
introduced in the preceding chapter, had entered the army, , 
and had arrived in his native country, but a short time 
before the commencement of hostilities, with the reinforce- 
ments the ministry had thought it prudent to throw into 
the disaffected parts of North America. His daughters 
were just growing into life, and their education required 
all the advantages the city could afford. His wife had been 
for some years in declining health, and had barely time to 
fold her son to her bosom, and rejoice in the re-union of 
her family, before the revolution burst forth, in a continued 
blaze, from Georgia to Massachusetts. The shock was too 
much for the ^eble condition of the mother, who saw her 
child called to the field to combat against the members of 
her own family in the South, and she sunk under the blow. 

There was no part of the continent where the manners 
of England, and its aristocratical notions of blood and 
alliances, prevailed with more force, than in a certain 
circle immediately around the metropolis of New York. 
The customs of the early Dutch inhabitants had, indeed, 
blended in some measure with the English manners; but 
still the latter prevailed. This attachment to Great Britain 
was increased by the frequent intermarriages of the officers 
of the mother country with the wealthier and more power- 
ful families of the vicinity, until, at the commencement of ^ 
hostilities, their united influence had very nearly thrown 
the colony into the scale on the side of the crown. A few, 
however, of the leading families espoused the cause of the 
people; and a sufficient stand was made against the efforts 
of the ministerial party, to organise, and, aided by the 
army of the confederation, to maintain, an independent 
and republicah form of government. 

The city of New York and the adjacent territory were 


THE EEY 


37 


alone exempted from the rule of the new commonwealth; 
while the royal authority extended no further than its 
dignity could be supported by the presence of an army. In 
this condition of things, the loyalists of influence adopted 
such measures as best accorded with their different charac- 
ters and situations. Many bore arms in support of the 
crown, and, by their bravery and exertions, endeavoured 
to secure what they deemed to be the rights of their prince, 
and their own estates, from the effects of the law of at- 
tainder. Others left the country; seeking in. that place 
they emphatically called home, an asylum, as they fondly 
hoped, for a season only, against the confusion and dangers 
of war. A third, and a more wary portion, remained in the 
place of their nativity, with a prudent regard to their ample 
possessions, and, perhaps, influenced by their attachments 
to the scenes of their youth. Mr. Wharton was of this 
description. After making a provision against future con- 
tingencies, by secretly transmitting the whole of his money 
to the British funds, this gentleman determined to continue 
in the theatre of strife, and to maintain so strict a neutral- 
ity, as to ensure the safety of his large estate, whichever 
party succeeded. He was apparently engrossed in the edu- 
cation of his daughters, when a relation, high in office in 
the new state, intimated, that a residence in what was 
now a British camp differed but little, in the eyes of his 
countrymen, from a residence in the British capital. Mr. 
Wharton soon saw this was an unpardonable offence in the 
existing state of things, and he instantly determined to 
remove the difficulty, by retiring to the country. He pos- 
sessed a residence in the county of West-Chester; and 
having been for many years in the habit of withdrawing 
thither during the heats of the summer months, it was kept 
furnished, and ready for his accommodation. His eldest 
daughter was already admitted into the society of women; 
but Frances, the younger; required a year or two more of 
the usual cultivation, to appear with proper eclat: at least 
so thought Miss Jeanette Peyton; and as this lady, a 
younger sister to their deceased mother, had left her pater- 
nal home, in the colony of Virginia, with the devotedness 


38 


THE SPY 


and affection peculiar to her sex, to superintend the welfare 
of her orphan nieces, Mr. Wharton felt that her opinions 
were entitled to respect. In conformity to her advice, 
therefore, the feelings of the parent were made to yield to 
the welfare of his children. 

Mr. Wharton withdrew to the “Locusts,” with a heart 
rent with the pain of separating from all that was left him 
of a wife he had adored, but in obedience to a constitu- 
tional prudence that pleaded loudly in behalf of his worldly 
goods. His handsome town residence was inhabited, in the 
mean while, by his daughters and their aunt. The regi- 
ment to which Captain -Wharton belonged formed part of 
the permanent garrison of the city; and the knowledge of 
the presence of his son was no little relief to the father, in 
his unceasing meditations on his absent daughters. But 
Captain Wharton was a young man and a soldier; his 
estimate of character was not always the wisest; and his 
propensities led hjm to imagine that a red coat never 
concealed a dishonourable heart.^v—— — 

The house of Mr. Wharton became a fashionable lounge 
to the officers of the royal army, as did that of every 
other family that was thought worthy of their notice. The 
consequences of this association were, to some feiw of the 
visited, fortunat’e; to more, injurious, by exciting expecta- 
tions which were never to be realised, and, unhappily, to 
no small number ruinous. The known wealth of the father, 
and, possibly, the presence of a high-spirited brother, for- 
bade any apprehension of the latter danger to the young 
ladies: but it was impossible that all the admiration be- 
stowed on the fine figure and lovely face of Sarah Wharton 
should be thrown away. ^Her person was formed with the 
early maturity of the climate, and a strict cultivation of 
the graces had made her, decidedly, the belle of the city. 
No one promised to dispute with her this female sover- 
eignty, unless it might be her younger sister. Frances, 
however, wanted some months to the charmed age of six- 
teen; and the idea of competition was far from the minds 
of either of the affectionate girls. Indeed, next to the 
conversation of Colonel Wellmere, the greatest pleasure of 


,THE SPY 


39 


Sarah was in contemplating the budding beauties of the 
little Hebe, who played around with all the innocency of 
youth, with all the enthusiasm of her ardent temper, and 
with no little of the archness of her native humour. 
Whether or not it was owing to the fact that Frances 
received none of the compliments which fell to the lot of 
her elder sister, in the often repeated discussions on the 
merits of the war, between the military beaus who fre- 
quented the house, it is certain their effects on the sisters 
were exactly opposite. It was much the fashion then for 
the British officers to speak slightingly of their enemies; 
and Sarah took all the idle vapouring of her danglers to 
be truths. The first political opinions which reached the 
ears of Frances were coupled with sneers on the conduct 
of her countrymen. At first she believed them; but there 
was occasionally a general, who was obliged to do justice 
to his enemy in order to obtain justice for himself; and 
Frances became somewhat skeptical on the subject of the 
inefficiency of her countrymen. Colonel Wellmere was 
among those who delighted most in expending his wit on 
the unfortunate Americans; and, in time, Frances began to 
listen to his eloquence with great suspicion, and sometimes 
with resentment. 

It was on a hot sultry day, that the three were in the 
parlour of Mr. Wharton’s house, the Colonel and Sarah 
seated on a sofa, engaged in a combat of the eyes, aided 
by the usual flow of small talk, and Frances was occupied 
at her tambouring frame, in an opposite corner of the 
room, when the gentleman suddenly exclaimed — 

“How gay the arrival of the army under General Bur- 
goyne will make the city, Miss Wharton!” 

“Oh! how pleasant it must be,” said the thoughtless 
Sarah, in reply; “I ani told there are many charming 
women with that army; as you say, it will make us all 
life and gayety.” 

Frances shook back the abundance of her golden hair, 
and raised her eyes, dancing with the ardour of national 
feeling,* then laughing, with a concealed humour, she 
asked — 


40 


THE SPY 


“Is it so certain, that General Biirgoyne will be permitted 
to reach the city?” 

“Permitted!” echoed the Colonel: “who is there to 
prevent it, my pretty Miss Fanny?” 

Prances was precisely at that age, when young people 
are most jealous of their station in society; neither quite 
a woman, nor yet a child. The “pretty Miss Fanny” was 
too familiar to be relished, and she dropped her eyes on her 
work again, with cheeks that glowed like crimson. /. 

“General Stark took the Germans into custody,” she 
answered, compressing her lip; — “maj^ not General Gates 
think the British too dangerous to go at large?” 

“Oh! they were Germans, as you say,” cried the Colonel, 
excessively vexed at the necessity of explaining it all; 
“mere mercenary troops; but when the really British regi- 
ments come in question, you will see a very different 
result.” 

“Of that there is no doubt,” cried Sarah, without in the 
least partaking of the resentment of the Colonel to her 
sister, but hailing already in her heart, the triumph of 
the British. 

“Pray,” Colonel Wellmere,” said Frances, recovering her 
good humour, and raising her joyous eyes once more to the 
face of the gentleman, “was the Lord Percy of Lexington, a 
kinsman of him who fought at Chevy Chase?” 

“Why, Miss Fanny, you are becoming a rebel,” said the 
Colonel, endeavouring to laugh away the anger he felt; 
“what you are pleased to insinuate was a chase at Lexing- 
• ton, was nothing more than a judicious retreat — a — kind 
of—” 

“Running fight,” interrupted the good-humoured girl, 
laying great emphasis on the first word. 

“Positively, young lady — ” Colonel Wellmere was inter- 
rupted by a laugh from a person who had hitherto been 
unnoticed. 

There was a small family apartment, adjoining the room 
occupied by the trio, and the air had blown open the door 
communicating between the two. A fine young man was 
now seen sitting near the entrance, who, by his smiling 


THE SPY 


41 


countenance, was evidently a pleased listener to the con- 
versation. He rose instantly, and coming through the door, 
with his hat in his hand, appeared a tall graceful youth, 
of dark complexion, and sparkling eyes of iJlack, from 
which the mirth had not yet entirely vanished, as he made 
his bow to the ladies. 

"Mr. Dunwoodie!” cried Sarah, in surprise; ‘T was 
ignorant of your being in the house; you will find a cooler 
seat in this room.” 

‘T thank you,” replied the young man, “but I must go 
and seek your brother, who placed me there in ambuscade, 
as he called it, with a promise of returning an hour ago.” 
Without making any further explanation, the youth bowed 
politely to the young women, distantly and with hauteur 
to the gentleman, and withdrew. Frances followed him 
into the hall, and blushing richly, enquired, in a hurried 
voice — 

“But why — why do you leave us, Mr. Dunwoodie? — 
Henry must soon return.” 

The gentleman caught one of her hands in his own, and 
the stern expression of his countenance gave place to a 
look of admiration, as he replied — 

“You managed him famously, my dear little kinswoman; 
never — no never, forget the land of your birth; remember, 
if you are the grhnd-daughter of an Englishman, you are, 
also, the grand-daughter of a Peyton.” 

“Oh!” returned the laughing girl, “it would be difficult 
to forget that, with the constant lectures on genealogy 
before us, with which we are favoured by aunt Jeanette — 
but why do you go?” 

“I am on the wing for Virginia, and have much to do.” 
He pressed her hand as he spoke, and looking back, while 
in the act of closing the door, exclaimed, “Be true to your 
country — be American.” The ardent girl kissed her hand 
to him as he retired, and then instantly applying it with 
its beautiful fellow to her burning cheeks, ran into her 
own apartment to hide her confusion. 

Between the open sarcasm of Frances, and the ill-con- 
cealed disdain of the young yian, Colonel Wellmere had 


42 


THE SPY 


felt himself placed in an awkward predicament; but 
ashamed to resent such trifles in the presence of his mis- 
tress, he satisfied himself with observing, superciliously, as 
Ounwoodie -left the room — 

“Quite a liberty for a youth in his situation; a shop-boy 
with a bundle, I fancy.” 

The idea of picturing the graceful Peyton Dunwoodie as 
a shop-boy could never enter the mind of Sarah, and she 
looked around lier in surprise, when the Colonel con- 
tinued — 

“This Mr. Dun — Dun — ” 

“Dunwoodie! Oh no — he is a relation of my aunt,” cried 
the young lady, “and an intimate friend of my brother; 
they were at school together, and only separated in Eng- 
land, when one went into the army, and the other to a 
French military academy.” 

“His money appears to have been thrown away,” observed 
the Colonel, betraying the spleen he was unsuccessfully 
striving to conceal. 

“We ought to hope so,” added Sarah, with a smile; “for 
.it is said he intends joining the rebel army. He was 
brought here, in a French ship, and has just been ex- 
changed; you may soon meet him in arms.” 

“Well, let him — I wish Washington plenty of such 
heroes;” and he turned to a more pleasant subject, by 
changing the discourse to themselves. 

A few weeks after this scene occurred, the army of 
Burgoyne laid down their arms. Mr. Wharton, beginning 
to think the result of the contest doubtful, resolved to 
conciliate his countrymen, and gratify himself, by calli'^^g 
his daughters into his own abode. Miss Peyton consented 
to be their companion; and from that time, until the period 
at which we commenced our narrative, they had formet 
one family. 

Whenever the main army made any movements. Captain 
Wharton had, of course, accompanied it; and once or twice, 
under the protection of strong parties, acting in the neigh- 
bourhood of the 'Locusts, he had enjoyed rapid and stolen 
interviews with his friends. A twelvemonth had, however^ 


THE SPY 


43 


passed without his seeing them; and the impatient Henry 
had adopted the disguise we have mentioned, and unfor- 
tunately arrived on the very evening that an unknown and 
ratheff- suspicious guest was an inmate of the house, which 
seldom contained any other than its regular inhabitants. 

“But, do you think he suspects me?” asked the captain, 
with anxiety, after pausing to listen to Caesar’s opinion of 
the Skinners. 

“How should he?” cried Sarah, “when your sisters and 
father could not penetrate your disguise.” 

“There is something mysterious in his manner; his looks 
are too prying for an indifferent observer,” continued young 
Wharton thoughtfully, “and his face seems familiar to me. 
The recent fate of Andre has created much irritation on 
both sides. Sir Henry threatens retaliation for his death; 
and Washington is as firm as if half the world were at his 
command. The rebels would think me a fit subject for 
their plans just now, should I be so unlucky as to fall into 
their hands.” 

“But, my son,” cried his father, in great alarm, “you 
are not a spy; you are not within the rebel — that is, the 
American lines; — there is nothing here to spy.” 

“That might be disputed,” rejoined the young man, 
musing: “their pickets were as low as the White Plains 
when I passed through in disguise. It is true my purposes 
are innocent; but how is it to appear? My visit to you 
would seem a cloak to other designs. Remember, sir, the 
treatment you received not a year since, for sending me a 
supply of fruit for the winter.” 

^^/‘That proceeded from the misrepresentations of my kind 
neighbors,” said Mr. Wharton, “who hoped, by getting my 
estate confiscated, to purchase good farms, at low prices. 

] Peyton Dunwoodie, however, soon obtained our discharge; 
we were detained but a month.” 

“We!” repeated the son, in amazement; “did' they take 
my sisters, also? — Fanny, you wrote me nothing of this.” 

“T believe,” said Prances, colouring highly, “I mentioned 
the kind treatment we received from your old friend. Major 
j Dunwoodie; and that he procured my father’s release.” 


44 


THE SPY 


“True; — but were you with him in the rebel camp?” 

“Yes,” said the father, kindly; “Fanny would not suffer 
me to go alone, Jeanette and Sarah took charge of the 
(^ocusts, and this little girl w’as my companion, in cap- 
tivity.” 

“And Fanny returned from such a scene a greater rebel 
than ever,” cried Sarah, indignantly; “one would think the 
hardships her father suffered would have cured her of such 
whims.” 

“What say you to the charge, my pretty sister?” cried 
the Captain gayly; — “did Peyton strive to make you hate 
your king, more than he does himself?” 

“Peyton Dunwoodie hates no one,” said Frances, quickly; 
then, blushing at her own ardour, she added immediately,' 
“he loves you, Henry, I know; for he has told me so again 
and again.” 

“Young Wharton tapped his sister on the cheek, with a 
smile, as he asked her, in an affected whisper — “Did he 
tell you also that he loved my little sister Fanny?” 

“Nonsense,” said Frances; and the remnants of the 
supper-table soon disappeared under her superintendence. 


/ 


CHAPTER III 

^Twas when the fields were swept of Autumn’s store, 

And growling winds the fading foliage tore, 

Behind the Lowmon hill, the short-lived light, 

Descending slowly, usher’d in the night; 

When from the noisy town, with mournful look. 

His lonely way the meagre pedler took. 

Wilson. 

A STORM below the highlands of the Hudson, if it be 
introduced with an easterly wind, seldom lasts less than 
two days. Accordingly, as the inmates of the Locusts 
assembled, on the following morning, around their early 
breakfast, the driving rain wms seen to strike in nearly 
horizontal lines against the windows of the building, and 
forbade the idea of exposing either man or beast o the 
tempest. Harper was the last to appear: after taking a 
view of the state of the weather, he apologised to Mr. 
Wharton for the necessity that existed for his trespassing 
on his goodness for a longer time. To appearances, the 
reply w^as as courteous as the excuse, yet Harper wore a 
resignation in his deportment that was widely different 
from the uneasy manner of the father. Henry Wharton 
had resumed his disguise with a reluctance amounting to 
disgust, but in obedience to the commands of his parent. 
No communications passed between him and the stranger, 
after the first salutations of the morning had been paid by 
Harper to him, in common with the rest of the family. 
Prances had, indeed, thought there was something like a 
smile passing over the features of the traveller, when, on 
entering the room, he first confronted her brother; but it 
was confined to the eyes, seeming to want power to affect 
the muscles of the face, and was soon lost in the settled 


45 


46 


THE SPY 


and benevolent expression which reigned in his 'counte' 
nance, with a sway but seldom interrupted. The eyes of 
the affectionate sister were turned in anxiety, for a moment, 
on her brother, and glancing again on their unknown guest, 
met his look, as he offered her, with marked attention, one 
of the little civilities of the table; and the heart of the girl, 
which had begun to throb with violence, regained a pulsa- 
tion as tempered as youth, health, and buoyant spirits could 
allow. While yet seated at the table, Caesar entered, and, 
laying a small parcel in silence by the side of his master, 
modestly retired behind his chair, where, placing one hand 
on its back, he continued in an attitude half familiar, half 
respectful, a listener. 

“What is this, Caesar?" enquired Mr. Wharton, turning 
the bundle over to examine its envelope, and eyeing it 
rather suspiciously. 

“The ’baccy, sir Harvey Birch, he got home, and he 
bring you a little good ’baccy from York.” 

“Harvey Birch!” rejoined the master with great delibera- 
tion, stealing a look at his guest. “I do not remember 
desiring him to purchase any tobacco for me; but as he 
has brought it, he must be paid for his trouble.” 

For an instant only, as the negro spoke, did Harper 
suspend his silent meal; his eye" moved slowdy from the 
servant to the master, and again all remained in its 
impenetrable reserve. 

To Sarqh Wharton, this intelligence gave unexpected 
pleasure; rising from her seat, with impatience, she bade 
the black show Birch into the apartment; when, suddenly 
recollecting herself, she turned to the traveller with an 
apologising look, and added, “if Mr. Harper will excuse the 
presence of a pedler.” 

The indulgent benevolence expressed in the countenance 
of the stranger, as he bowed a silent acquiescence, spoke 
m-ore eloquently than the nicest framed period, and the 
young lady repeated her order, with a confidence in its 
truth that removed all embarrassment. < 

In the deep recesses of the windows of the cottage were 
seats of panelled work; and the rich damask curtains, that 


THE SPY 


47 


had ornamented the parlour in Queen Street,* had been 
transferred to the Locusts, and gave to the room that in- 
describable air of comfort, which so gratefully announces 
the approach of a domestic winter. Into one of these 
recesses Captain Wharton now threw himself, drawing the 
curtain before him in such a manner as to conceal most of 
his person from observation; while his younger sister, 
losing her natural frankness of manner, in an air of 
artificial constraint, silently took possession of the other. 

Harvey Bircli had been a pedler from his youth; at least 
so he frequently asserted, and his skill in the occupation 
went far to prove the truth of the declaration. He was a 
native of one of the eastern colonies; and, from something 
of superior intelligence which belonged to his father, it was 
thought they had known better fortunes in the land of their 
nativity. Harvey possessed, however, the common manners 
of the country, and was in no way distinguished from men 
of his class, but by his acuteness, and the mystery which 
enveloped his movements. Ten years before, they had 
arrived together in the vale, and, purchasing the humble 
dwelling at which Harper had made his unsuccessful appli- 
cation, continued ever since peaceful inhabitants, but little 
noticed and but little known. Until age and infirmities 
had prevented, the father devoted himself to the cultivation 
of the small spot of ground belonging to his purchase, while 
the son pursued with avidity his humble barter. Their 
orderly quietude had soon given them so much considera- 
tion in the neighbourhood, as to induce a maiden of five- 
and-thirty to forget the punctilio of her sex, and^ to accept 
the office of presiding over their domestic comforts. The 
roses had long before vanished from the cheeks of Katy 
Haynes, and she had seen in succession, both her male and 
female acquaintances forming the union so desirable to her 

♦The Americans changed the names of many towns and streets 
at the Revolution, as has since heen done in France. Thus, in the 
city . of New York, Crown Street became Liberty Street ; King 
Street, Pine Street ; and Queen Street, then one of the most fash- 
ionable quarters of the town. Pearl Street. Pearl Street now 
<1849) is chiefly occupied by the auction dealers and the wholesale 
dry-goods merchants for warehouses and counting-rooms. 


48 


THE fePY 


sex, with but little or no hope left for herself, when, with 
views of her own, she entered the family of the Birches. 
Necessity is a hard master, and, for the want of a better 
companion, the father and son were induced to accept her 
services;*- but still Katy was not wanting in some qualities, 
which made her a very tolerable housekeeper. On the one 
hand, she was neat, industrious, honest, and a good mana- 
ger. On the other, she was talkative, selfish, superstitious, 
and inquisitive. By dint of using the latter quality with 
consummate industry, she -had not lived in the family five 
years when she triumphantly' declared, that she had heard, 
or rather overheard, sufficient to enable her to say what 
had been the former fate of her associates. Could Katy 
have possessed enough of divination to pronounce ^ upon 
their future lot, her task would have been accomplished. 
From the private conversations of the parent and child, 
she learnt that a fire had reduced them from competence 
to poverty, and at the same time diminished the number of 
'their family to two. There was a tremulousness in the 
voice of the father, as he touched lightly on the event, 
which affected even the heart of Katy; but no barrier is 
sufficient to repel vulgar curiosity. She persevered, until 
a very direct intimation from Harvey, by threatening to 
supply her place with a female a few years younger than 
herself, gave her awful warning that there were bounds 
beyond which she was not to pass. From that period the 
curiosity of the housekeeper had been held in such salu- 
tary restraint, that, although no opportunity of listening 
was ever neglected, she had been able to add but little to 
her stock of knowledge. There was, however, one piece of 
intelligence, and that of no little interest to herself, which . 
she had succeeded in obtaining; and from the moment of 
its acquisition, she directed her energies to the accomplish- 
ment of one object, aided by the double stimulus of loye 
and avarice. 

Harvey was in the frequent habit of paying mysterious 
visits, in the depth of the night, to the fire-place of the 
apartment, that served for both kitchen and parlour. Here 
he was observed by Katy; and, availing herself of his 


THE SPY 


49 


absence, and the occupations of the father, by removing 
one of the hearth-stones, she discovered an iron pot, glitter- 
ing with a metal that seldom fails to soften the hardest 
heart. Katy succeeded in replacing the stone without dis- 
covery, and never dared to trust herself with another visit. 
From that moment, however, the heart of the virgin lost its 
obduracy; and nothing interposed between Harvey and his 
happiness, but his own want of observation. 

The war did not interfere with the traffic of the pedler, 
who seized on the golden opportunity, which the interrup- 
tion of the regular trade afforded, and appeared absorbed 
in the one grand object of amassing money. For a year or 
two, his employment was uninterrupted, and his success 
proportionate; but, at length, dark and threatening hints 
began to throw suspicion around his movements, and the 
civil authority thought it incumbent on them to examine 
narrowly into his mode of life. His imprisonments, though 
frequent, were n'ot long; and his escapes from the guardians 
of the law easy, compared to what he endured from the per- 
secution of the military. Still Birch survived, and still he 
continued his trade, though compelled to be very guarded 
in his movements, especially whenever he approached the 
northern boundaries of the county; or, in other words, the 
neighbourhood of the American lines. His visits to the 
Locusts had become less frequent, and his appearance at 
his own abode so seldom, as to draw forth from the disap- 
pointed Katy, in the fulness of her heart, the complaint we 
have related, in her reply to Harper. Nothing, however, 
seemed to interfere with the pursuits of this indefatigable 
trader; who with a view to dispose of certain articles for 
which he could only find purchasers in the very wealthiest 
families of the county, had now braved the fury of the 
tempest, and ventured to cross the half mile between his 
own residence and the house of Mr. Wharton. 

In a few minutes after receiving the commands of his 
young mistress, Caesar re-appeared, ushering into the apart- 
ment the subject of the foregoing digression. In person, 
the pedler was a man above the middle height, spare, but 
full of bone and muscle. At first sight, his strength seemed 


50 


THE SPY 


unequal to manage the unwieldy burden of his pack; yet 
he threw it on and off with great dexterity, and with as 
much apparent ease as if it had been filled with feathers. 
His eyes were grey, sunken, restless, and, for the flitting 
moments that they dwelt on the countenances of those with 
whom he conversed, they seemed to read the very soul. 
They possessed, however, two distinct expressions, which, 
in a great measure, characterised the whole man. When 
engaged in traffic, the intelligence of his face appeared 
lively, active, and flexible, though uncommonly acute; if 
the conversation turned on the ordinary transactions of 
life, his air became abstracted and restless; but if, by 
chance, the revolution and the country were the topic, 
his whole system seemed altered — all his faculties were 
concentrated: he would listen for a great length of time, 
without speaking, and then would break silence by some 
light and jocular remark, that was too much at variance 
with his former manner, not to be affectation. But of the 
war, and of his father, he seldom spoke, and always from 
some very obvious necessity. 

To a superficial observer, avarice would seem his ruling 
passion — and, all things considered, he was as unfit a sub- 
ject for the plans of Katy Haynes as can be readily imag- 
ined. On entering the room, the pedler relieved himself 
from his burden, which, as it stood on the floor, reached 
nearly to his shoulders, and saluted the family with modest 
civilitj^. To Harper he made a silent bow, without lifting 
his eyes from the carpet: but the curtain prevented any 
notice of the presence of Captain Wharton. Sarah gave 
but little time for the usual salutations, before she com- 
menced her survey of the contents of the pack; and, for 
several minutes, the two were engaged in bringing to light 
the various articles it contained. The tables, chairs, and 
floor, were soon covered with silks, crapes, gloves, muslins, 
and all the stock of an itinerant trader. Cagsar was em- 
ployed to hold open the mouth of the pack, as its hoards 
were discharged, and occasionally he aided his young lady, 
by directing her admiration to some article of finery, which, 
from its deeper contrast in colours, he thought more worthy 


1’HE SPY 


51 


of her notice. At length, Sarah, having selected several 
articles, and satisfactorily arranged the prices, observed in 
a cheerful voice — 

“But, Harvey, you have told us no news. Has Lord 
Cornwallis beaten thd rebels again?” 

The question could not have been heard; for the pedler, 
burying his body in the pack, brought forth a quantity of 
lace of exquisite fineness, and, holding it up to view, he 
required the admiration of the young lady. Miss Peyton 
dropped the cup she was engaged in washing, from her 
hand; and Prances exhibited the whole of that lovely face, 
which had hitherto only suffered one of its joyous eyes to 
be seen, beaming with a colour that shamed the damask 
which enviously concealed her figure. 

The aunt quitted her employment; and Birch soon dis- 
posed of a large portion of this valuable article. The 
praises of the ladies had drawn the whole person of the 
younger sister into view; and Frances was slowly rising 
from the window, as Sarah repeated her question, with an 
exultation in her voice, that proceeded more from pleasure 
in her purchase, than her political feelings. The younger 
sister resumed her seat, apparently examining the state of 
the clouds, while the pedler, finding a reply was expected, 
answered slowly — 

“There is some talk, below, about Tarleton having de- 
feated General Sumter, on the Tiger river.” 

Captain Wharton now involuntarily thrust his head be- 
tween the opening of the curtains into the room; and 
Frances turning her ear in breathless silence, noticed the 
quiet eyes of Harper looking at the pedler, over the book 
he was affecting to read, with an expression that denoted 
him to be a listener of no ordinary interest. 

“Indeed!” cried the exulting Sarah; “Sumter — Sumter — 
who is he? I’ll not buy even a pin, until you tell me all 
the news,” she continued, laughing, and throwing down a 
muslin she had been examining. 

For a moment the pedler hesitated: his eye glanced 
towards Harper, who was yet gazing at him with settled 
meaning, and the whole manner of Birch was altered. 


52 


THE SPY 


Approtxching the fire, he took from his mouth a large allow- 
ance of\ the Virginian weed, and depositing it, with the 
superabundance of its juices, without mercy to Miss Pey- 
ton’s shining andirons, he returned to his goods. 

“He lives somewhere among the niggars to the south,’" 
answered the pedler, abruptly. 

“No more niggar than be yourself. Mister Birch,” inter- 
rupted CjBsar tartly, dropping, at the same time, the 
covering of the goods in high displeasure. 

“Hush, Caesar — hush — never mind- it now,” said Sarah 
Wharton, soothingly, impatient to hear further. 

“A black man so good as white. Miss Sally,” continued 
the offended negro, “so long as he behave heself.” 

“And frequently he is much better,” rejoined his mis- 
tress: “but, Harvey, who is this Mr. Sumter?” 

A slight indication of humour showed itself on the face 
of the pedler — but it disappeared, and he continued as if 
the discourse had met with no interruption from the 
sensitiveness of the domestic. 

“As I was saying, he lives among the coloured people in 
the south” — Caesar resumed his occupation — “and he has 
lately had a skrimmage with this Colonel Tarletop — ” 

“Who defeated him of course,” cried Sarah, with con- 
fidence. 

“So say the troops at Morrisania.” 

“But what do you say?” Mr. Wharton ventured to enquire, 
yet speaking in a low tone. 

“I repeat but what I hear,” said Birch, offering a piece 
of cloth to the inspection of Sarah, who rejected it in 
silence, evidently determined to hear more before she made 
another purchase. 

“They say, however, at the Plains,” the pedler continued, 
first throwing his eyes again round the room, and letting 
them rest for an instant on Harper, “that Sumter and one 
or two more were all that were hurt, and that the rig’lars 
were all cut to pieces, for the militia were fixed snugly in 
a log barn.” 

“Not very probable,” said Sarah, contemptuously, 
“though I make no doubt the rebels got behind the logs.” 


THE SPY 


53 


“I think,” said the pedler, coolly, again offering the silk, 
“it’s quite ingenious to get a log between one and a gun 
instead of getting between a gun and a log.” 

The eyes of Harper dropped quietly on the pages of the 
volume in his hand, while Frances, rising, came forward 
with a smile in her face, as she enquired, in a tone of 
affability that the pedler had never before witnessed from 
the younger sister — 

“Have you more of the lace, Mr. Birch?” 

The desired article was immediately produced and 
Frances became a purchaser also. By her order a glass 
of liquor was offered to the trader, who took it with thanks, 
and, having paid his compliments to the master of the 
house and the ladies, drank the beverage. 

“So, it is thought that Colonel Tarleton has worsted 
General Sumter?” said Mr. Wharton, affecting to be em- 
ployed in mending the cup that was broken by the eagerness 
of his sister-in-law. 

“I believe they think so at MorVisania,” said Birch, dryly. 

“Have you any other news, friend ?” asked Captain Whar- 
ton, venturing to thrust his face without the curtains again. 

“Have you. heard that Major Andre has been hanged?” 

Captain Wharton started, and for a moment glances of 
great significance were exchanged between him and the. 
trader, when he observed, with affected indifference, “that 
must have been some w^eeks ago.” 

“Does his execution make much noise?” asked the father, 
striving to make the broken china unite. 

“People will talk, you know, ’Squire.” 

“Is there any probability of movements below, my friend, 
that will make traveling dangerous?” asked Harper, looking 
steadily at the other, in expectation of his reply. 

Some bunches of ribands fell from the hands of Birch: 
his countenance changed instantly, losing its keen expres- 
sion in intent meaning, as he answered slowly — “It is some 
time since the rig’lar cavalry were out, and I saw some of 
De Lancey’s men cleaning their arms, as I passed their 
quarters; it would be no wonder if they took the scent 
soon, for the Virginia horse are low in the county.” 


54 


THE SPY 


“Are they in much force?” asked Mr, Wharton, suspend- 
ing all employment in anxiety. 

“I did not count them.” 

Frances was the only observer of the change in the 
manner of Birch, and, on turning to Harper, he had re- 
sumed his hook in silence. She took some of the ribands 
in her hand — laid them down again — and, bending over the 
goods, so that her hair, falling in rich curls, shaded her 
face, she observed, blushing with a colour that suffused 
her neck — 

“I thought the southern horse had marched towards the 
Delaware.” 

“It may be so,” said Birch; “I passed the troops at a 
distance.” 

Caesar had now selected a piece of calico, in which the 
gaudy colours of yellow and red were contrasted on a white 
ground, and, after admiring it for several minutes, he laid 
it down with a sigh, as he exclaimed, “Berry pretty calico.” 

“That,” said Sarah; “yes, that would make a proper gown 
for your wife, Caesar.” 

“Yes, Miss Sally,” cried the delighted black; “it make old 
Dinah heart leap for joy — so berry genteel.” 

“Yes,” added the pedler, quaintly, “that is only wanting 

to make Dinah look like a rainbow.” 

• / 

Caesar eyed his young mistress eagerly, until she enquired 
of Harvey the price of the article. 

“Why,^much as I light of chaps,” said the pedler. 

“How much?” demanded Sarah in surprise. 

“According to my luck in finding purchasers; for my 
Mend Dinah, you may have it at four shillings.” 

“It is too much,” said Sarah, turning to some goods for 
herself. 

“Monstrous price for coarse calico. Mister Birch,” grum- 
bled Caesar, dropping the opening of the pack again. 

“We will say three, then,” added the pedler, “if you like 
that better.” 

“Be sure he like ’em better,” said Caesar, smiling good- 
humouredly, and re-opening the pack — “Miss Sally like a 
free shilling when she give, and a four shilling when she 
take. 


THE SPY 


oo 


j The bargain was immediately concluded; but in measur- 
ing, the cloth wanted a little of the well-known ten yards 
required by the dimensions of Dinah. By dint of a strong 
arm, however, it grew to the desired length, under the 
experienced eye of the pedler, who conscientiously added a 
riband of corresponding brilliancy with the calico; and 
Caesar hastily withdrew, to communicate the joyful intelli- 
gence to his aged partner. 

During the movements created by the conclusion of the 
purchase. Captain Wharton had ventured to draw aside 
the curtain, so as to admit a view of his person, and he 
now enquired of the pedler, who had begun to collect the 
scattered goods, at what time he had left the city. 

“At early twilight,” was the answer. 

“So lately!” cried the other in surprise; and then cor- 
recting his manner, by assuming a more guarded air, he 
continued — “Could you pass the pickets at so late an hour?” 

“I did,” was the laconic reply. 

“You must be well known by this time, Harvey, to the 
officers of the British army,” cried Sarah, smiling knowingly 
on the pedler. * 

“I know some of them by sight,” said Birch, glancing his 
eyes round the apartment, taking in their course Captain 
Wharton, and resting for a'n instant on the countenance of 
Harper. 

Mr. Wharton 'had listened intently to each speaker, in 
succession, and had so far lost the affectation of indiffer- 
ence, as to be crushing in his hand the pieces of china on 
which he had expended so much labour in endeavouring to 
mend it; when, observing the pedler tying the last knot in 
his pack, he asked abruptly — 

“Are we about to be disturbed again with the enemy?” 

“Who do you call the enemy?” said the pedler, raising 
himself erect, and giving the other a look, before which 
the eyes of Mr. Wharton sunk in instant confusion. 

“All are enemies who disturb our peace,” said Miss 
Peyton, observing that her brother was unable to speak, r 
“But are the royal troops out from below?” 

“ ’Tis quite likely they soon may be,” returned Birch, 


56 


THE SPY 


raising his pack from the floor, and preparing to leave the 
room. ^ 

“And the continentals,” continued Miss Peyton mildly, 
“are the continentals in the county?” 

Harvey was about to utter something in reply, when the 
door opened, and Caesar made his appearance, attended by 
his delighted spouse. 

The race of blacks of which Caesar was a favourable 
specimen is becoming very rare. The old family servant, 
who, born and reared in the dwelling of his master, identi- 
fied himself with the welfare of those whom it was his lot 
to serve, is giving place in every direction to that vagrant 
c^ass which has sprung up within the last thirty years, and 
whose members roam through the country unfettered by 
principles, and uninfiuenced by attachments. For it is one 
of the curses of slavery, that its victims become incompe- 
tent to the attributes of a freeman. The short curly hair 
of Caesar had acquired from age a colouring of grey, that 
added greatly to the venerable cast of his appearance. 
Long and indefatigable applications of the comb had 
straightened the close curls 'of his forehead, until they 
stood erect in a stiff and formal brush, that gave at least 
two inches to his stature. The shining black of his youth 
had lost its glistening hue, and*it had been succeeded by a' 
dingy brown. His eyes, which stood at a most formidable 
distance from each other, were small, and Characterised by 
an expression of good feeling, occasionally interrupted by 
the petulance of* an indulged servant; they, however, now 
danced with inward delight. His nose possessed, in an 
eminent/ manner, all the requisites for smelling, but with | 
the most modest unobtrusiveness; the nostrils being abun- j 
dantly capacious, without thrusting themselves in the way i 
of their neighbours. His mouth w'as capacious to a fault, j 
and was only tolerated on account of the double row of 
pearls it contained. In person Cassar was short, and we 
should say square, had not all the angles and curves of his 
figure bid defiance to any thing like mathematical sym- 
metry. His arms were long and muscular, and terminated 
by two bony hands, that exhibited on one side, a colouring 


THE SPY 


57 


of blackish grey, and on the other, a faded pink. But it 
was in his legs that nature had indulged her most capri- 
cious humour. There was an abundance of material in- 
judiciously used. The calves were neither before nor 
behind, but rather on the outer side of the limb, inclining 
forward, and so close to the knee as to render the free use 
of that joint a subject of doubt. In the foot, considering 
it as a base on which the body was to rest, Caesar had no 
cause of complaint, unless, indeed, it might be that the leg 
was placed so near the centre, as to make it sometimes a 
matter of dispute, whether he was not walking backwards. 
But whatever might be the faults a statuary could discover 
in his person, the heart of Caesar Thompson was in the 
right place, and, we doubt not, of very just dimensions. 

Accompanied by his ancient companion, Caesar now ad- 
vanced, and paid his tribute of gratitude in words. Sarah 
received them with great complacency, and made a few 
compliments to the taste of the husband, and the probable 
appearance of the wife. Frances, with a face beaming with 
a look of pleasure that corresponded to the smiling counte- 
nances of the blacks, offered the service of her needle in 
fitting the admired calico to its future uses. The offer was 
humbly and gratefully accepted. 

As Cagsar followed his wife and the pedler from the 
apartment, and was in the act of closing the door, he 
indulged himself in a grateful soliloquy, by saying aloud — 

“Good little lady — Miss Fanny — take care of he fader — 
love to make a gown for old Dinah, too.” What else his 
feelings might have induced him to utter is unknown, but 
the sound of his voice was heard some time after the 
distance rendered his words indistinct. 

Harper had dropped his book, and he sat an admiring 
witness of the scene; and Frances enjoyed a double satis- 
faction, as she received an approving smile from a face 
which concealed, under the traces of deep thought and 
engrossing care, the benevolent expression which charac- 
terises all the best feelings of the human heart. 


CHAPTER IV 


is the form, the eye, the word. 

The bearing of that stranger Lord, 

His stature, manly, bold, and tall, 

Built like a castle’s battled wall. 

Yet moulded in such just degrees, 

TIis giant strength seems lightsome ease, 

Weather and war their rougher trace 
Have left on that majestic face; — 

But ’tis his dignity of eye! 

There, if a suppliant, would I fly. 

Secure, ’mid danger, wrongs, and grief. 

Of sym.pathy, redress, relief — 

That glance, if guilty, would I dread 
IMore than the doom that spoke me dead.” 

“Enough, enough!” the princess cried, ' 

“ ’Tis Scotland’s hope, her joy, her pride! ” >■. 

Wai.ter Scott. 

The party sat in silence for many minutes after the 
pedler had withdrawn. Mr. Wharton had heard enough to 
increase his uneasiness, without in the least removing his 
apprehensions on behalf of his son. The Captain was im-' 
patiently wishing Harper in any other place than the onei 
he occupied with such apparent composure, while Missi 
Peyton completed the disposal of her breakfast equipage, 
with the mild complacency of her nature, aided a little by 
an inward satisfaction at possessing so large a portion of 
the trader’s lace — Sarah was busily occupied in arranging 
her purchases, and Frances was kindly assisting m the 
occupation, disregarding her own neglected bargains, when 
the stranger suddenly broke the silence by saying — j 

“If any apprehensions of me induce Captain Wharton to 
maintain, his disguise, I wish him to be undeceived; had] 
1 motives for betraying him, they could not operate under 
imesent circumstances.” ^ ' i 


THE SPY 


59 


The younger sister sank into her seat colourless and 
astonished. Miss Peyton dropped the tea-tray She was 
lifting from the table, and Sarah sat with her purchases 
unheeded in her lap, in speechless surprise. Mr. Wharton 
was stupefied; but the Captain, hesitating a moment from 
astonishment, sprang into the middle of the room, and 
exclaimed, as he tore off the instruments of his disguise — 

“I believe you from my soul, and this tiresome imposition 
shall continue no longer. ’ Yet I am at a loss to conceive in 
what manner you should know me.” . ' 

‘‘You really look so much better in your proper person. 
Captain Wharton,” said Harper, with a slight smile, ‘‘I 
would advise you never to conceal it in future. There, is 
'enough to .betray you, if other sources of detection were 
wanting:” as he spoke, he pointed to a picture suspended 
over the mantel-piece, which exhibited the British officer in 
his regimentals. 

‘‘I had flattered myself,” cried young Wharton, with a 
laugh, ‘‘that I looked better on the canvass than in a 
masquerade. You must be a close observer, sir.” 

‘‘Necessity has made me one,” said Harper, rising from 
his seat. 

Frances met him as he was about to withdraw, and, 
taking his hand between both her own, said with earnest- 
ness, her cheqks mantling with their richest vermilion — 
‘‘You cannot — you will not betray my brother.” 

For an instant Harper paused in silent admiration of the 
lovely pleader, and then, folding her hands on his breast, 
he replied solemnly — ‘‘I cannot, and I will not;” he released 
her hands, and laying his own on her head gently, con- 
tinued — ‘‘If the blessing of a stranger can profit you, receive 
it.” He turned, and, bowing low, retired, with a delicacy 
that was duly appreciated by those he quitted, to his own 
apartment. 

The whole party were deeply impressed with the ingen- 
uous and solemn manner of the traveller, and all but the 
father found immediate relief in his declaration. Some 
of the cast-off clothes of the captain, which had been re- 
moved with the goods from the city, were produced: and 


THE SPY 


130 , 

young Wharton, released from the uneasiness of his dis- | 
guise, began at last to enjoy a visit which had been 
undertaken at so much personal risk to himself. Mr. 
Wharton retiring to his apartment, in pursuance of his 
regular engagements, the ladies, with the young man, were 
left to an uninterrupted communication on such subjects ^ 
as were most agreeable. Even Miss Peyton was affected 
with the spirits of her young relatives; and they sat for 
an hour enjoying, in heedless confidence, the pleasures of 
an unrestrained conversation, without reflecting on any . 
danger which might be impending over them. The city 
and their acquaintances were not long neglected; for Miss * 
Peyton, who had never forgotten the many agreeable hours 
of her residence within its boundaries, soon enquired; • 
among others, after their old acquaintance. Colonel 
Wellmere. 

“Oh!” cried the Captain, gayly, “he yet continues there, i| 
as handsome and as gallant as ever.” ^ 

Although a woman be not actually in love, she seldom ’ 
hears without a blush the name of a man whom she might 
love, and who has been connected with herself, by idle | 
gossips, in the amatory rumour of the day. Such had been | 
the case with Sarah, and she dropped her eyes on the , 
carpet with a smile, that, aided by the blush which suffused i 
her cheek, in no degree detracted from her native charms. 

Captain Wharton, without heeding this display of interest ;• 
in his sister, immediately continued — “At times he is i 
melancholy — we tell him it must be love.” Sarah raised f 
her eyes to the face of her' brother, and was consciously! 
turning. them on the rest of the party, when she met those 1 
of her sister, laughing with good humour and high spirits, 
as she cried, “Poor man, does he despair?” 

“Why, no — one would think he could not; the eldest son 
of a man of wealth, so handsome, and a Colonel.” 

“Strong reasons, indeed, why he should prevail,” said; 
Sarah, endeavouring to laugh; “more particularly the 
latter.” 

“Let me tell you,” replied the Captain, gravely, “a 


THE SPY 


61 


Lieutenant-Colonelcy in the Guards is a very pretty 
thing.” 

“And Colonel 'Wellmere a very pretty man,” added 
Frances. 

“Nay, Frances,” returned her sister, “Colonel Wellmere 
was never a favourite of yours; he is too loyal to his king 
to be agreeable to your taste?”' 

Frances quickly answered, “And is not Henry loyal to 
his king?” 

“Come, come,” said Miss Peyton? “no difference of opinion 
about the Colonel — he is a favourite of mine.” 

“Fanny likes Majors better,” cried the brother, pulling 
her upon his knee. 

“Nonsense,” said the blushing girl, as she endeavoured to 
extricate herself from the grasp of her laughing brother. 

“It surprises me,” continued the Captain, “that Peyton, 
when he procured the release of my father, did not en- 
deavour to detain my sister in the rebel camp.” 

“That might have endangered his own liberty,” said the 
smiling girl, resuming her seat; “you know it is liberty for 
which Major Dunwoodie is fighting.” 

“Liberty!” exclaimed Sarah; “very pretty liberty which 
exchanges one master for fifty.” 

“The privilege of changing masters at all is a liberty.” 

“And one you ladies would sometimes be glad to exer- 
cise,” cried the Captain. 

“We like, I believe, to have the liberty of choosing who 
they shall be in the first place,” said the laughing girl; 
“don’t we, aunt Jeanette?” 

“Me!” cried Miss Peyton, starting; “what do I know of 
such things, child? you must ask some one else, if you 
wish to learn such matters.” 

“Ah! you would have us think you were never young; 
but what am I to believe of all the tales 1 have heard about 
the handsome Miss Jeanette Peyton?” 

“Nonsense, my dear, nonsense,” said the aunt, ejideavour- 
ing to suppress a smile; “it is very silly to believe all you 
hear.” 


62 


THE SPY 


“Nonsense, do you call it?” cried the Captain, gayly; “to 
this hour General Montrose toasts Miss Peyton; I heard 
hirri within the week, at Sir Henry’s table.” 

“Why, Henry, you are as saucy as your sister; and to 
break in upon your folly, I must take you to see my new 
home-made manufactures, which I will be bold enough to 
put in contrast with the finery of Birch.” 

The young people rose to follow their aunt, in perfect 
good humour with each other and the world. On ascending 
the stairs to the place of deposit for Miss Peyton’s articles 
of domestic economy, she availed herself, however, of an 
opportunity to enquire of her nephew, whether General 
Montrose suffered as much from the gout, as he had done 
when she knew him. 

It is a painful discovery we make, as we advance in life, 
that even those we most love are not exempt from its 
frailties. When the heart is fresh, and the view of the 
future unsullied by the blemishes which have been gathered 
from the experience of the past, our feelings are most holy; 
we love to identify with the persons of our natural friends 
all those qualities to which we ourselves aspire, and all 
those virtues we have been taught to revere^ The con- 
fidence with which we esteem seems a part of dur. nature; 
and there is a purity thrown around the affections which 
tie us to our kindred, that after life can seldom hope to 
she uninjured. The family of Mr. Wharton continued to 
enjoy, for the remainder of the day, a happiness to which 
they had long been strangers; and one that sprung in its 
younger members, from the delights of the most confident 
affection, and the exchange of the most disinterested 
endearments. 

Harper appeared only at the dinner table, and he retired 
with the cloth, under the pretence of some engagements in 
his own room. Notwithstanding the confidence created by 
his manner, the family felt his absence a relief; for the 
visit of Captain Wharton was necessarily to be confined to 
a very few days, both from the limitation of his leave of 
absence, and the danger of a discovery. 

All dread of consequences, however, was lost in the^ 


THE SPY 


63 


l>leasure of the meeting. Once or twice during the day, 
: Mr. Wharton had suggested a doubt as to the character of 
I his unknown guest, and the possibility of the detection 
of his son proceeding in some manner from his informa- 
1 tion: but the idea was earnestly opposed by all his children; 

! even Sarah uniting with her brother and sister in pleading 
warmly in favour of the sincerity expressed in the outward 
I appearance of the traveller. 

“Such appearances, my children,” replied the-desponding 
: parent, “are but too often deceitful; when men like Major 
Andre lend themselves to the purposes of fraud, it is idle 
to reason from qualities, much less externals.” 

,, “Fraud,” cried his son quickly; “surely, sir, you forget 
' that Major Andre was serving his king, and that the usages 
of war justified the measure.” 

“And did not the usages of war justify his death, Henry?” 
I inquired Frances, speaking in a low voice, unwilling to 
abandon what she thought the cause of her country, and 
yet unable to suppress her feelings for the man. 

I “Never!” exclaimed the young man, springing from his 
seat, and pacing the fioor rapidly — “Frances, you shock 
mq; suppose it should be my fate, even now, to fall into 
the power of the rebels; you would vindicate my execu- 
tion — perhaps exult in the cruelty of Washington.” 

“Henry!” said Frances, solemnly, quivering with emo- 
tion, and with a face pale as death, “you little know my 
heart.” 

“Pardon me, my sister — my little Fanny,” cried the 
repentant youth, pressing her to his bosom, and kissing 
off the tears which had burst, spite of her resolution, from 
her eyes. 

“It is very foolish to regard your hasty words, I know,” 
said Frances, extricating herself from his arms, and raising 
her yet humid eyes to his face with a smile; “but reproach 
from those we love is most severe, Henry; particularly — 
where we — we think — we know” — her paleness gradually 
gave place to the colour of the rose, as she concluded in a 
lov/ voice, with her eyes directed to the carpet, “we are 
undeserving of 


i 


64 


THE SPY 


Miss Peyton moved from her own seat to the one next , 


her niece, and, kindly taking her hand, observed, “You ; 
should not suffer the impetuosity of your brother to affect 
you so much; boys, you know, are proverbially un- 
governable.” 

“And, from my conduct, you might add cruel,” said the 
Captain, seating himself on the other side of his sister; 
“but on the subject of the death of Andre we are all of 
us uncommonly sensitive. You did not know him; he was 
all that was brave — that was accomplished — that was esti- 
mable.” Prances smiled faintly, and. shook her head, but 
made no reply. Her brother, observing the marks of in- 
credulity in her countenance, continued — “You doubt it, 
and justify his death?” 

“I do not doubt his worth,” replied the maid, mildly, 
“nor his being deserving of a more happy fate; but I can- ' 
not doubt the propriety of Washington’s conduct. I kno 
but little of the customs of war, and wish to know less 
but with what hopes ot success could the Americans coi 
tend, if they yielded all the principles which long usag 
had established, to the exclusive purposes of the British" 

“Why contend at all?” cried Sarah, impatiently; “beside 
being rebels, all their acts are illegal.” . 

“Women are but mirrors, which reflect the images befoi 
them,” cried the Captain, good-naturedly. “In Frances, 
see the picture of Major Dunwoodie, and in Sarah — ” 

“Colonel Wellmere,” interrupted the younger siste 
laughing, and blushing crimson. “I must confess I ai 
indebted to the Major for my reasoning — am I not, aui 
Jeanette?” 

“I believe it is something like his logic, indeed, child.” 

“I plead guilty; and you, Sarah, have not forgotten tt 
learned discussions of Colonel Wellmere.” 

“I trust I never forget the right,” said Sarah, emulatip 
her sister in colour, and rising, under the pretence ( 
avoiding the heat of the fire. 

Nothing occurred of any moment during the rest of tl 
day; but in the evening Caesar reported that he had ove 
heard voices in the room of Harper conversing in a lo 



THE SPY 


65 


tone. The apartment occupied by the traveller was the 
wing at the extremity of the building, ouposite to the. par- 
lour in which the family ordinarily assembled; and it 
seems, that C«sar had established a regular system of 
espionage, with a view to the safety of his young master. 
This intelligence gave some uneasiness to all the members 
of the family; but the entrance of Harper himself, with the 
air of benevolence and sincerity which shone through his 
reserve, soon removed the doubts from the breast of all 
but Mr. Wharton. His children and sister believed Csesar 
to have been mistaken, and the evening passed off without 
any additional alarm. 

On the afternoon of the succeeding day, the party were 
assembled in the parlour around the tea-table of Miss Pey- 
ton, when a change in the weather occurred. The thin 
Hcud, that apparently floated but\ a short distance above 
the tops of the hills, began to drive from the west towards 
the east in astonishing rapidity. The rain yet continued 
to beat against the eastern windows of the house with 
fury; in that direction the heavens were dark and gloomy. 
Frances was gazing at the scene with the desire of youth 
to escape from the tedium of conflnement, when, as if by 
magic, all was still. The rushing winds had ceased, the 
pelting of the storm was over, and, springing to the win- 
dow, with delight pictured in lier face, she saw a glorious 
ray of sunshine lighting the opposite wood. The foliage 
glittered with the checkered beauties of the October leaf, 
reflecting back from the moistened boughs the richest 
lustre of an American autumn. In an instant, the piazza, 

■ which opened to the south, was thronged with the inmates 
of the cottage. The air was mild, balmy, and refreshing; 
in the east, clouds, which might be likened to the retreating 
masses of a discomfited army, hung around the horizon in 
. awful and Increasing darkness. At a little elevation above 
the cottage, the thin vapour was still rushing towards the 
east with amazing velocity; while in the west the sun had 
broken forth and shed his parting radiance on the scene 
below, aided by the fullest richness of a clear atmosphere 
and a freshened herbage. Such moments belong only to the 


66 • 


THE SPY 


climate of America, and are enjoyed in a degree propor- 
tioned to the suddenness of the contrast, and the pleasure 
we experience in escaping from the turbulence of the 
elements to the quiet of a peaceful evening, and an air 
still as the softest mornings in June. 

“What a magnificent scene!” said Harper, in a low tone; 
“how grand! how awfully sublime! — may such a quiet 
speedily await the struggle in which my country is en- 
gaged, and such a glorious evening follow the day of her 
adversity.” 

Frances, who stood next to him, alone heard the voice. 
Turning in amazement from the view to the speaker, she 
saw him standing bare-headed, erect, and with his eyes 
lifted to Heaven. There was no longer the quiet which 
had seemed their characteristic, but they were lighted into 
something like enthusiasm, and a slight flush passed over 
^is features. 

There can be no danger apprehended from such a man, 
thought Prances; such feelings belong only to the virtuous. 

The musings of the party were now interrupted by the 
sudden appearance of the pedler. He had taken advantage 
of the flrst gleam of sunshine to hasten to the cottage. 
Heedless of wet or dry as it lay in his path, with arms 
swinging to and fro, and « with his head bent forward of 
his body several inches, Harvey Birch approached the 
piazza, with a gait peculiarly his own. — It was the quick, 
lengthened pace of an itinerant vender of goods. 

“Pine evening,” said the pedler, saluting the party, with- 
out raising his eyes; “quite warm and agreeable for the 
season.” 

Mr. Wharton assented to the remark, and enquired kindly 
after the health of his father. Harvey heard him, and con- 
tinued standing for some time in moody silence; but the 
question being repeated, he answered with a slight tremour 
in his voice — 

“He fails fast; old age and hardships will do their work.” 
The pedler turned his face from the view of most of the 
family; but Frances noticed his glistening eyes and quiver- 


THE SPY 


67 


ing ^lip, and, for the second time, Harvey rose in her 
estimation. 

The valley in which the residence of Mr. Wharton stood 
ran in a direction from north-west to south-east, and the 
house was placed on the side of a hill which terminated its 
length in the former direction. A small opening, occa- 
sioned by the receding of the opposite hill, and the fall of 
the land to the level of the tide water, afforded a view 
of the Sound* over the tops of the distant woods on its 
margin. The surface of the water which had so lately been 
lashing the shores with boisterous fury, was already losing 
its ruffled darkness in the long and regular undulations that 
succeeded a tempest, while the light air from the south- 
west was gently touching their summits, lending its feeble 
aid in stilling the waters. Some dark spots were now to 
be distinguished, occasionally rising into view, and again 
sinking behind the lengthened waves which interposed 
themselves to the sight. They were unnoticed by all but 
the pedler. He had seated himself on the piazza, at a 
distance from Harper, and appeared to have forgotten the 
object of his visit. His roving eye, however, soon caught 
a glimpse of these new objects in the view, and he sprang 
up with alacrity, gazing intently towards the water. He 
changed his place, glanced his eye with marked uneasiness 
on Harper, and then said with great emphasis — 

“The rig’lars must be out from below.” 

“Why do you think so?” enquired Captain Wharton, 
eagerly. “God send it may be true; I want their escort in 
again.” 

“Them ten whale-boats would not move so fast unless 
they were better manned than common.” 

“Perhaps,” cried Mr. Wharton in alarm, “they are— they 
are continentals returning from the island.” 

“They look like rig’lars,” said the pedler, with meaning. 

* An island more than forty leagues in length lies opposite me 
coasts of New York and Connecticut. The arm of the sea which 
separates it from the main land is technically called a sound, and 
in that part of the country, par excellence. The Sound. This sheet 
of water varies in its breadth from five to thirty miles. 


68 


THE SPY 


“Look!” repeated the Captain, “there is nothing but spots 
to be seen.” 

Harvey disregarded his observation, but seemed to be 
soliloquising, as he said in an under-tone, “They came out 
before the gale — have laid on the island these two days — 
horse are on the road — there will soon be fighting near us.” 
During this speech, Birch several times glanced his eye 
towards Harper, with evident uneasiness, but no corre- 
sponding emotion betrayed any interest of that gentleman 
in the scene. He stood in silent contemplation of the view, 
and seemed enjoying the change in the air. As Birch con- 
cluded, however. Harper turned to his host, and mentioned 
that his business would not admit of unnecessary delay; 
he would, therefore, avail himself of the fine evening to 
ride a few miles on his journey. Mr. Wharton made many 
professions of regret at losing so agreeable an inmate; but 
was too mindful of his duty not to speed the parting guest, 
and orders were instantly given to that effect. 

The uneasiness of the pedler increased in a manner for 
which nothing apparent could account; his eye was con- 
stantly wandering towards the lower end of the vale, as if 
in expectation of some interruption from that quarter. At 
length Csesar appeared, leading the noble beast which was 
to bear the weight of the traveller. The pedler officioOsly 
assisted to tighten the girths, and fasten the blue cloak and 
vallise to the mail-straps. 

Every preparation being completed. Harper proceeded to 
take his leave. To Sarah and her aunt he paid his com- 
pliments with ease and kindness; but when he chme to 
Prances, he paused a moment, while his face assumed an 
expression of more than ordinary benignity. His eye re- 
peated the blessing which had before fallen from his lips, 
and the girl felt her cheeks glow, and her heart beat, with 
a quicker pulsation, as he spoke his adieus. There was a 
mutual exchange of polite courtesy between the host and 
his parting guest; but as Hhrper frankly offered his hand 
to Captain Wharton, he remarked, in a manner of great 
solemnity — 

“The step you have undertaken is one of much danger. 


THE SPY 


69 


and disagreeable consequences to yourself may result from 
jit; in such a case, I may have it in my power to prove the 
! gratitude I owe your family for its kindness.” 

“Surely, sir,” cried the father, losing sight of delicacy 
in apprehension for his child, “you will keep secret the 
I discovery which your being in my house has enabled you 
j to make.” 

: Harper turned quickly to the speaker, and then, losing 
the sternness which had begun to gather on his counte- 
I nance, he answered mildly, “I have learnt nothing in your 
I family, sir, of which I was ignorant before; but your son 
j is safer for my knowledge of his visit than he would be 
I without it.” 

f He bowed to the wlible party, and without taking any 
i notice of the pedler, other than by simply thanking him for 
his attentions, mounted his horse, and, riding steadily and 
■ gracefully through the little gate, was soon lost behind the 
hill which sheltered the valley to the northward. 

The eyes of the pedler followed the retiring figure of the 
horseman so long as it continued within view, and as it 
/lisappeared from his sight, he drew a long and heavy, sigh, 
as if relieved from a load of apprehension. The Whartons 
had meditated in silence on the character and visit of 
' their unknown guest for the same period, when the father 
approached Birch, and observed— 

“I am yet your debtor, Harvey, for'the tobacco you were 
so kind as to bring me from the city.” 

“If it should not prove so good as the first,” replied the 
pedler, fixing a last and lingering look in the direction of 
I Harper’s route, “it is owing to the scarcity of the article.” 

“I like it much,” continued the other; “but you have 
forgotten to name the price.” 

The countenance of the trader changed, and, losing its 
expression of deep care in a natural acuteness, he an- 
swered — 

“It is hard to say what ought to be the price; I believe I 
must leave it to your own generosity.” 

Mr. Wharton had taken a hand well filled with the images 
of Carolus III. from his pocket, and now extended it towards 


70 


THE SPY 


Birch with three of the pieces between his finger and thumb. 
Harvey’s eyes twinkled as he contemplated the reward; and 
rolling over in his mouth a large quantity of the article in 
question, coolly stretched forth his hand, into which the dol- 
lars fell with a most agreeable sound; but not satisfied with 
the transient music of their fall, the pedler gave each piece 
in succession a ring on the stepping-stone of the piazzi, be- 
fore he consigned it to the safe keeping of a huge deerskin 
purse, which vanished from the sight of the spectators so 
dexterously, that not one of them could have told about 
what part of his person it was secreted. 

This very material point in his business so satisfactorily 
completed, the pedler rose from his seat on the floor of the 
piazza, and approached to where Captain Wharton stood, 
supporting his sisters on either arm, as they listened with 
the lively interest of affection to his conversation. 

The agitation of the preceding incidents had caused such 
an expenditure of the juices which had become necessary 
to the mouth of the pedler, that a new supply of the weed 
was required before he could turn his attention to business 
of leseer moment. This done he asked abruptly — 

“Captain Wharton, do you go in to-night?” 

“No!” said the Captain, laconically, and looking at his 
lovely burdens with great affection. “Mr. Birch, would you 
have me leave such company so soon, when I may never 
enjoy it again?” 

“Brother!” said Frances, “jesting on such a subject is 
cruel.” 

“I rather guess,” continued the pedler, coolly, “now the 
storm is over, the Skinners may be moving; you had better 
shorten your visit. Captain Wharton.” 

“Oh!” cried the British officer, “a few guineas will buy 
off those rascals at any time, should I meet them. No, no, 
Mr. Birch, here I stay until morning.” 

“Money could not liberate Major Andre,” said the pedler, 
dryly. 

Both the sisters pow turned to the Captain in alarm — and 
the elder observed — 

“You had better take th'e advice of Harvey; rest assured, 


THE SPY 


71 


brother, his opinion in such matters ought not to be dis- 
regarded.” 

“Yes,” added the younger, “if, as I suspect, Mr. Birch 
assisted you to come here, your safety, our happiness, dear 
Henry, requires you to listen to him now.” 

“I brought myself out, and can take myself in,” said the 
Captain, positively; “our bargain went no further than to 
procure my disguise, and to let me know when the coast 
was clear; and in the latter particular, you were mistaken, 
Mr. Birch.” 

“I was,” said the pedler, with some interest, “and the 
greater is the reason why you should get back to-night; 
the pass I gave you will serve but once.” 

“Cannot you forge another?” 

The pale cheek of the trader showed an unusual colour, 
but he continued silent, with his eyes fixed on the ground-, 
until the young man added, with great posi^iveness — “Here 
I stay this night, come what will.” 

“Captain Wharton,” said the pedler, with great delibera- 
tion and marked emphasis, “beware a tall Virginian, with 
huge whiskers! he is below you to my knowledge; the devil 
can’t deceive him; I never could but once.” 

“Let him beware of me,” said Wharton, haughtily; “but, 
Mr. Birch, I exonerate you from further responsibility.” 

“Will you give me that in writing?” asked the cautious 
Birch. 

“Oh! cheerfully,” cried the Captain, with a laugh; 
“Csesar! pen, ink, and paper, while I write a discharge for 
my trusty attendant, Harvey Birch, pedler, &c. &c.” 

The implements for writing were produced, and the Cap- 
tain, with great gayety, wrote the desired acknowledgment 
in language of his own; which the pedler took, and care- 
fully depositing it by the side of the images of his Catholic 
Majesty, made a sweeping bow to the whole family, and 
departed as he had approached. He was soon seen at a 
distance, stealing into the door of his own humble dwelling. 

The father and sisters of the Captain were too much 
rejoiced in retaining the young man, to express, or even 
entertain, the apprehensions his situation might reasonably 


72 


THE SPY 


excite; but on retiring to their evening repast, a cooler 
reflection induced the Captain to think of changing his 
mind. Unwilling to trust himself out of the protection of 
his father’s domains, the young man despatched Caesar to 
desire another interview with Harvey. The black soon 
returned with the unwelcome intelligence that it was now 
too late. Katy had told him that Harvey must be miles 
on his road to the northward, “having left home at early 
candle-light with his pack.” Nothing now remained to the 
Captain but patience, until the morning should afford, fur- 
ther opportunity of deciding on the best course for him to 
pursue. 

“This Harvey Birch, with his knowing looks and porten- 
tous warnings, gives me more uneasiness than I am willing 
to own,” said Captain Wharton, rousing himself from a fit 
of musing, in which the danger of his situation made no 
small part of his meditations. 

“How is it that he is able to travel to and fro in these 
difficult times, without molestation?” enquired Miss Peyton. ■ 
“Why the rebels suffer him to escape so easily, is more* 
than I can ‘answer,” returned the other; “but Sir Henry . 
would not permit a hair of his head to be injured.” 

“Indeed!” cried Prances, with interest; “is he then 
known to Sir Henry Clinton?” 

“At least he ought to be.” . , / 

“Do you think, my son,” asked Mr. Wharton, “there is no , 
danger of his betraying you?” 

“Why — no; I reflected on that before I trusted myself to i 
his power,” said the Captain, thoughtfully: “he seems to be j 
faithful in matters of business. The danger to himself,- 
should he return to the city, would prevent such an act of 
villany.” 

“I think,” said Frances, adopting the manner of her 
brother, “Harvey Birch is not without good feelings; at- 
least, he has the appearance of them at times.” , 

“Oh!” cried his sister, exulting, “he has loyalty, and that 
with me is a cardinal virtue.” u 

“I am afraid,” said her brother, laughing, “love of moneytl 
is a stronger passion than love of his king.” « 

h' 

1 


THE SPY • 


73 


“Then,” said the father, “you cannot be safe while in his 
power — for no love will withstand the temptation of money, 
when offered to avarice.” 

“Surely, sir,” cried the youth, recovering his gayety, 
“there must be one love that can resist any thing — is there 
not, Fanny?” 

“Here is your candle, you keep your father up beyond his 
usual hour.” 


CHAPTER V 


Through Solway sands, through Taross moss, ! 

Blindfold, he knew the paths to cross; i 

By wily turns, by desperate bounds, ( 

^ Had baffled Percy’s best blood-hounds. \ 

In Eske, or Liddel, fords were none, j 

But he would ride them, one by one; 

Alike to him was time, or tide, . ‘ ( 

December’s snow, or July’s pride; ; 

Alike to him was tide, or time, i 

Moonless midnight, or matin prime. | 

' ' Walter Scott. { 

All the members of the Wharton family laid their heads) 
on their pillows that night, with a foreboding of some? 
interruption to their ordinary quiet. Uneasiness kept thei 
sisters from enjoying their usual repose, and they rose 
from their beds, on the following morning, unrefreshed,! 
and almost without having closed their eyes. 

On taking an eager and hasty survey of "the valley from 
the windows of their room, nothing, however, but its usual 
serenity was to be seen. It was glittering with the opening 
brilliancy of one of those lovely, mild days, which occur! 
about the time of the falling of the leaf; and which, by 
their frequency, class the American autumn with the most 
delightful seasons of other countries. We have no spring; 
vegetation seems to leap into existence, instead of creeping, 
as in the same latitudes of the old world:' but how grace-^ 
fully it retires! September, October, even November and 
December, compose the season for enjoyment in the open 
air; they have their storms, but they are distinct, and not 
of long continuance, leaving a clear atmosphere and a 
- cloudless sky. ' 

As nothing could be seen likely to interrupt the enjoy- 
ments and harmony of such a day, the sisters descended to 


74 


THE SPY 


75 


I the parlour, with a returning confidence in their brother's 
l| security, and their own happiness. 

j'i The family were early in assembling around the hreak- 
ijj fast table; and Miss Peyton, with a little of that minute 
j| precision which creeps into the habits of single life, had 
% pleasantly insisted that the absence of her nephew should 
r in no manner interfere with the regular hours she had 
1 established; consequently, the party were already seated 
; when ^ the Captain made his appearance; though the un- 
li tasted coffee sufficiently proved, that by none of his relatives 
I was his absence disregarded. 

' “I think I did much better," he cried, taking a chair 
I between his sisters, and receiving their offered salutes, 
I “to secure a good bed and such a plentiful breakfast, 
i instead of trusting to the hospitality of that renowned 
corps, the Cow-Boys.” 

! “If you could sleep," said Sarah, “you were more fortu- 
i nate than Frances and myself; every murmur of the night 
■; air sounded to me like the approach of the rebel army.” ■ 

’ “Why,” said the Captain, laughing, “I do acknowledge 
\ a little inquietude myself — but how was it with you?” 
t: turning to his younger and evidently favourite sister, and 
ij tapping her cheek; “did you see banners in the clouds, and 
jj mistake Miss Peyton’s ^olian harp for rebellious music?” 
“Nay, Henry,” rejoined the maid, looking at him affec- 

I tionately, “much as I love my own country, the approach 

II of her troops just now would give me great pain.” 

I The brother made no reply; but returning the fondness 

( expressed in her eye by a look of fraternal tenderness, he 
gently pressed her hand in silence; when Caesar, who had 
participated largely in the anxiety of the family, and who 
had risen with the dawn, and kept a vigilant watch on the 
surrounding objects, as he stood gazing from one of the 
windows, exclaimed with a face that approached to some- 
thing like the hues of a white man — 

“Run — massa Harry — run — if he love old Caesar — run — 
here come a rebel horse.” 

“Run!” repeated the British officer, gathering himself up 
in military pride; “no, Mr. Caesar, running is not my 


76 


THE SP(y 


trade.” While speaking, he walked deliberately to the 
window, where the family were already collected in the 
greatest consternation. 

At the distance of more than a mile, about fifty dragoons 
were to be seen, winding down one of the lateral entrances 
of the valley. In advance with an officer, was a man 
attired in the dress of a countryman, who pointed in the 
direction of the cottage. A small party now left the main 
body, and moved rapidly towards the object of their 
destination. 

On reaching the road which led through the bottom of 
the valley, they turned their horses’ heads to the north. 
The Whartons continued chained in breathless silence to 
the spot, watching their movements, when the party, having 
reached the dwelling of Birch, made a rapid circle around 
his grounds, and in an instant his house was surrounded 
by a dozen sentinels. 

Two or three of the dragoons now dismounted and dis- 
appeared: in a few minutes, however, they returned to the 
yard, .followed by Katy, from whose violent gesticulations, 
it was evident that matters of no trifling concern were on j 
the carpet. A short communication with the loquacious 
housekeeper followed the arrival of the main body of the 
troop, and the advanced party remounting, the whole 
moved towards the Locusts with great speed. 

As yet none of the family had sufficient presence of mind 
to devise any means of- security for Captain Wharton; but 
the danger now became too pressing to admit of longer 
delay, and various means of secreting him were hastily! 
proposed; but they were all haughtily rejected ; by the 
young man, as unworthy of his character. It was too late 
to retreat to the woods in the rear of the cottage, for he 
would unavoidably be seen, and, followed by a troop of 
horse, as inevitably taken. 

At length, his sisters, with trembling hands, replaced his 
original disguise, the instruments of which had been care- 
fully kept at hand by Caesar, in expectation of some sudden' 
emergency. 

This arrangement was hastily and imperfectly completed; 


THE SPY 


as the dragoons entered the lawn and orchard of the 
Locusts, riding with the rapidity of the wind; and in their 
turn the Whartons were surrounded. 

Nothing remained now, but to meet the impending exami- 
nation with as much indifference as the family could 
I assume. The leader of the horse dismounted, and, followed 
j by a couple of his men, he approached the outer door of 
I the building, which was slowly and reluctantly opened for 
his admission by Caesar. The heavy tread of the trooper 
as he followed the black to the door of the parlour, rang 
in the ears of the females as it approached nearer and 
nearer, and drove the blood from their faces to their hearts, 
with a chill that nearly annihilated feeling. 

A man, whose colossal 'stature manifested the possession 
of vast strength, entered the room, and removing his cap, 
he saluted the family with a mildness his appearance did 
not indicate as belonging to his nature. His dark hair 
hung around his brow in profusion, though stained with 
the powder which was worn at that day, and his face was 
nearly hid in the whiskers by which it was disfigured. 
Still, the expression of his eye, though piercing, was not 
bad, and his voice, though deep and powerful, was far from 
unpleasant. Frances ventured to throw a timid glance at 
his figure as he entered, and saw at once the man, from 
whose scrutiny, Harvey Birch had warned them, there was 
so much to be apprehended. 

“You have no cause for alarm, ladies,” said the officer, 
pausing a moment, and contemplating the pale faces around 
him — “my business will be confined to a few questions, 
which, if freely answered, will instantly remove us from 
your dwelling.” 

“And what may they be, sir?” stammered Mr. Wharton, 
rising from his chair, and waiting anxiously for the reply. 

“Has there been a strange gentleman staying with you 
during the storm?” continued the dragoon, speaking with 
interest, and in some degree sharing in the evident anxiety 
of the father. 

“This gentleman — here — favoured us with his company 
during the rain, and has not yet departed.” 


78 


THE SPY 


“This gentleman!” repeated the other, turning to Captain 
Wharton, and contemplating his figure for a moment, until 
the anxiety of his countenance gave place to a lurking 
smile. He approached the youth with an air of comic 
gravity, and with a low bow, continued — “I am sorry for 
the severe cold you have in your head, sir.” 

“I,” exclaimed the Captain, in surprise; “I have no cold 
in my head.” 

“I fancied it then, from seeing you had covered such 
handsome black locks with that ugly old wig; it was my 
mistake, you will please to pardon it.” 

• Mr. Wharton groaned aloud; but the ladies, ignorant of 
the extent of their visitor’s knowledge, remained in trem- 
bling yet rigid silence. The Captain himself moved his 
hand involuntarily to his head, and discovered that the 
trepidation of his sisters had left some of his natural hair 
exposed. The dragoon watched the movement with a con- 
tinued smile, when, seeming to recollect himself, turning to 
the father, he proceeded — 

“Then, sir, I am to understand there has not been a 
Mr. Harper, here, within the week.” 

“Mr. Harper,” echoed the other, feeling a load removed 
from his heart — “yes, — I had forgotten; but he is gone; 
and if there be any thing wrong in his character, we are in 
entire ignorance of it — to me he was a total stranger.” 

“You have but little to apprehend from his character,” 
answered the dragoon dryly; “but he is gone — how— 
when — and whither?” 

“He departed as he arrived,” said Mr. Wharton, gathering 
renewed confidence from the manner of the trooper; “on 
horseback, last evening, and he took the northern road.” 

The officer listened to him with intense interest, his 
^countenance gradually lighting into a smile of pleasure; 
and the instant Mr. Wharton concluded his laconic reply, 
he turned on his heel and left the apartment. The Whar- 
tons, judging from his manner, thought he was about to 
proceed in quest of the object of his enquiries. They . 
observed the dragoon, on gaining the lawn, in earnest, and 
apparently pleased conversation with his two subalterns. 


THE SPY 


79 


In a few moments orders were given to some of the troop, 
and horsemen left the valley, at full speed, by its vp.rious 
roads. 

The suspense of the party within, who were all highly 
interested witnesses of this scene, was shortly terminated; 
for the heavy tread of the dragoon soon announced his 
second approach. He bowed again politely as he re-entered 
the room, and walking up to Captain Wharton, said, with 
comic gravity — 

“Now, sir, my principal business being done, may I beg 
to examine the quality of that wig?” 

The British officer imitated the manner of the other, as 
he deliberately uncovered his head, and handing him the 
wig, observed, “I hope, sir, it is to your liking.” 

“I cannot, without violating the truth, say it is,” returned 
the dragoon; “I prefer your ebony hair, from which you 
seem to have combed the powder with great industry. But 
trhat must have been a sad hurt you have received under 
this enormous black patch.” 

“You appear so close an observer of things, I should like 
your opinion of it, sir,” said Henry, removing the silk, and 
exhibiting- the cheek free from blemish. 

“Upon my word, you improve most rapidly in externals,” 
added the trooper, preserving his muscles in inflexible 
gravity: “if I could but persuade you to exchange this old 
surtout for that handsome blue coat by your side, J think 
I never could witness a more agreeable metamorphosis, 
since I was changed myself from a lieutenant to a captain.” 

Young Wharton very composedly did as was required; 
and stood an extremely handsome, well-dressed young man: 
The dragoon looked at him for a minute with the drollery 
that characterised his manner, and then continued — 

“This is a new comer in the scene; it is usual, you know, 
for strangers to be introduced; I am Captain Lawton, of 
the Virginia horse.” 

“And I, sir, am Captain Wharton, of his Majesty’s 60th 
regiment of foot,” returned Henry, bowing stiffly, and 
recovering his natural manner. 

The countenance of Lawton changed instantly, and his 


80 


■ THE SPY 


assumed quaintness vanished. He viewed the figure of 
Captain Wharton, as he stood proudly swelling with a pride 
that disdained further concealment, and exclaimed, with 
great earnestness — 

“Captain Wharton, from my soul I pity you!” 

•“Oh! then,” cried the father in agony, “if you pity him, 
dear sir, why, molest him? he is not a spy; nothing but a 
desire to see his friends prompted him to venture so far 
from the regular army in disguise. Leave him with us; 
there is no reward, no sum, which I will not cheerfully pay.” 

“Sir, your anxiety for your friend excuses your lan- 
j guage,” said Lawton, haughtily; “but you forget I am a 
Virginian, and a gentleman.” Turning to the young man, 
he continued — “Were you ignorant. Captain Wharton, that 
our pickets have been below you for several days?” 

“I did not know it until I reached them, and it was then 
too late to retreat,” said Wharton, sullenly. “I came out, 
as my father has mentioned, to see my friends, understands 
ing your parties to be at Peekskill, and near the Highlands,^, 
or surely I would not have ventured.” I 

“All this may be very true; but the affair of Andre has \ 
made us on the alert. When treason reaches the grade of I 
general officers. Captain Wharton, it behoves the friends of 
liberty to be vigilant.” 

Henry bowed to this remark in distant silence, but Sarah 
ventured to urge something in behalf of her brother. The 
dragoon heard her politely, and apparently with commisera- I 
tion; but willing to avoid useless and embarrassing peti- | 
tions, he answered mildly — | 

“I am not the commander of the party, madam; Major | 
Dunwoodie will decide what must be done with your | 
brother; at all events, he will receive nothing but kind and 
gentle treatment.” 

“Dunwoodie!” exclaimed Frances, with a face, in which 
the roses contended for the mastery with the paleness of 
apprehension; “thank God! then Henry is safe!” 

Lawton regarded her with a mingled expression of pity 
and admiration; then shaking his head doubtingly, he 
continued — 


THE SPY 


81 


“I hope so; and with your permission, we will leave the 
matter for his decision.” 

The colour of Frances changed from the paleness of fear 
to the glow of hope. Her dread on behalf of her brother 
was certainly greatly diminished; yet her form shook, her 
breathing became short and irregular, and her whole frame 
gave tokens of extraordinary agitation. Her eyes rose from 
the floor to the dragoon, and were again flxed immovably 
on the carpet — she evidently wished to utter something, 
but was unequal to the effort. Miss Peyton was a close 
observer of these movements of her niece, and advancing 
with an air of feminine dignity, enquired — 

“Then, sir, we may expect the pleasure of Major Dun- 
woodie’s company shortly?” 

“Immediately, madam,” answered the dragoon, with- 
drawing his admiring gaze from the person of Prances; 
“expresses are already on the road to announce to him our 
situation, and the intelligence will speedily bring him to 
this valley; unless, indeed, some private reasons may exist 
to make a visit particularly unpleasant.” 

“We shall always be happy to see Major Dunwoodie.” 

“Oh! doubtless; he is a general favourite. May I pre- 
sume on it so far as to ask leave to dismount and refresh 
my men, who compose a part of his squadron?” 

There was a manner about the trooper, that would have 
made the omission of such a request easily forgiven by Mr. 
Wharton, but he was fairly entrapped by his own eagerness 
to conciliate, and it was useless to withhold a consent which 
he thought would probably be extorted; he, therefore, 
made the most of necessity, and gave such orders as would 
facilitate the wTshes of Captain Lawton. 

The officers were invited to take their morning’s repast 
at the family breakfast table, and having made their ar- 
rangements without, the invitation was frankly accepted. 
None of the watchfulness, which was so necessary to their 
situation, was neglected by the wary partisan. Patrols 
were seen on the distant hills, taking their protecting cir- 
cuit around their comrades, who were enjoying, in the 
midst of dangers, a security that can only spring from the 
watchfulness of discipline, and the indifference of habit. 


r 


THE SPY 


82 


The addition to the party at Mr. Wharton’s table was only 
three, and they were all of them men who, under the rough 
exterior induced by actual and arduous service, concealed 
the manners of gentlemen. Consequently, the interruption 
to the domestic privacy of the family was marked by the 
observance of strict decorum. The ladies left the table to 
their guests, who proceeded, without much superfluous 
diffidence, to do proper honours to the hospitality of Mr. 
Wharton.* 

At length. Captain Lawton suspended for a moment his 
violent attacks on the buckwheat cakes, to enquire of the 
master of the house, if there was not a pedler of the name ■ 
of Birch who lived-in the valley at times. 

“At times only, I believe, sir,” replied Mr. Wharton, 
cautiously; “he is seldom here; I may say I never see him.” j 
“That is strange, too,” said the trooper, looking at the , 
disconcerted host intently, “considering he is your next j 
neighbour; he must be quite domestic, sir; and to the ladies i 
it must be somewhat inconvenient. I doubt not that that 

J 

muslin in the window-seat cost twice as much as he would f 
have asked them for it.” ? 

Mr. Wharton ‘turned in consternation, and saw some of ^ 
the recent purchases scattered about the room. ^ 

The two subalterns struggled to conceal their smiles ; but 
the Captain resumed his breakfast with an eagerness that 
created a doubt, whether he ever expected to enjoy another, i 
The necessity of a supply from the dominion of Dinah soon, J 
however, afforded another respite, of which Lawton availed^ 
himself. | 

“I had a wish to break this Mr. Birch of his unsocial | 
habiis, and gave him a call this morning,” he said: “had I 
I found him within, I should have placed him where he% 
would enjoy life in the midst of society, for a short time at} 
least.” ft 

“And- where might that be, sir?” asked Mr. Wharton,! 
conceiving it necessary to say something. ft 

“The guard-room,” said the trooper, dryly. C 

“What is the offence of poor Birch?” asked Miss Peyton,J 
handing the dragoon a fourth dish of coffee. M 


THE SPY 


83 


“Poor!” cried the Captain; “if he is poor, King George 
is a bad paymaster.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said one of the subalterns, “his Majesty 
owes him a dukedom.” 

“And congress a halter,” continued the commanding 
officer, conmmencing anew on a fresh supply of the cakes. 

“I am sorry,” said Mr. Wharton, “that any neighbour of 
mine should incur the displeasure of our rulers.” « 

“If I catch him,” cried the dragoon, while buttering an- 
other cake, “he will dangle from the limbs of one of his 
namesakes.” 

“He would make no bad ornament, suspended from one 
of those locusts before his own door,” added the Lieutenant. 

“Never mind,” continued the Captain; “I will have him 
yet before I’m a major.” 

As the language of these officers appeared to be sincere, 
and such as disappointed men in their rough occupations 
are but too apt to use, the Whartons thought it prudent to 
discontinue the subject. It was no new intelligence to any 
of the family, that Harvey Birch was distrusted, and 
greatly harassed, by the American army. His escapes 
from their hands, no less than his imprisonments, had been 
the conversation of the country in too many instances, and 
under circumstances of too great mystery, to be easily for- 
gotten. In fact, no small part of the bitterness, expressed 
by Captain Lawton against the pedler, arose from the un- 
accountable disappearance of the latter, when intrusted to 
the custody of two of his most faithful dragoons. 

A twelvemonth had not yet elapsed, since Birch had been 
seen lingering near the head-quarters of the commander- 
in-chief, and at a time when important movements were 
expected hourly to occur. So soon as the information of 
this fact was communicated to the officer, whose duty it 
was to guard the avenues of the American camp, he de- 
spatched Captain Lawton in pursuit of the pedler. 

Acquainted with all the passes of the hills, and indefati- 
gable in the discharge of his duty, the trooper had, with 
much trouble and toil, succeeded in effecting his object. 
The party had halted at a farm-house for the purposes of 


84 


THE SPY 


refreshment, and the prisoner was placed in a room by 
himself, but under the keeping of the two men before men- 
tioned; all that was known subsequently is, that a woman 
was seen busily engaged in the employments of the house- 
hold near the sentinels, and was particularly attentive to 
the wants of the captain, until he was deeply engaged in 
the employments of the supper-table. 

Afterwards, neither woman nor pedler was to be found. 
The pack, indeed, was discovered open, and nearly empty, 
and a small door, communicating with a room adjoining to 
the one in which the pedler had been secured, was ajar. 

Captain Lawton never could forgive the deception: his 
antipathies to his enemies were not very moderate, but this 
was adding an insult to his penetration that rankled deeply. 
He sat in poiTentous silence, brooding over the exploit of 
his prisoner, yet liiechanically pursuing the business before 
him, until, after sufficient time had passed to make a very 
comfortable meal, a trumpet suddenly broke on the ears 
of the party, sending its martial tones up the valley, in 
startling melody. The trooper rose instantly from the 
table, exclaiming — 

“Quick, gentlemen, to your horses; there comes Dun- 
woodie;” and, followed by his officers, he precipitately left 
the room. 

With the exception of the sentinels left to guard Captain 
Wharton, the dragoons mounted, and marched out to meet 
their comrades. 

None of the watchfulness necessary in a war, in which 
similarity of language, appearance, and customs, rendered 
prudence doubly necessary, was omitted by the cautious 
leader. On getting sufficiently near, however, to a body 
of horse of more than double his own number, to 'distin- 
guish countenances, Lawton plunged his rowels into his 
charger, and in a moment he was by the side of his com- 
mander. 

The ground in front of the cottage was again occupied by 
the horse; and, observing the same precautions as before,-, 
the newly arrived troops hastened to participate in thej 
cheer prepared for their comrades. 'f 


CHAPTER VI 


• and let conquerors boast 

Their fields of fame — he who in virtue arms ' 

A young warm spirit against beauty's charms, 

Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall. 

Is the best, bravest conqueror of them all. 

Moore. 

The ladies of the Wharton family had collected about a 
window, deeply interested in the scene we have related. 

Sarah viewed the approach of her countrymen with a 
smile of contemptuous indifference; for she even und";!'- 
valued the personal appearance of men, whom she thought 
arrayed in the unholy cause of rebellion. Miss Peyton 
looked on the gallant show wdth an exulting pride, which 
arose in the reflection, that the warriors before her were 
the chosen troops of her native colony; while Frances 
•gazed with a singleness of interest that absorbed all other 
considerations. 

The two parties had not yet joined, before her quick eye 
distinguished one horseman in particular from those 
around him. To her it appeared that even the steed of this 
youthful soldier seemed to be conscious that he sustained 
the weight of no common man: — his hoofs but lightly 
touched the earth, and his airy tread was^ the curbed motion 
of a blooded charger. 

The dragoon sat in the saddle, with a firmness and ease 
that showed him master of himself and horse, — his figure 
uniting the just proportions of strength and activity, being 
tall, round, and muscular. To this officer Lawton made his 
report, and, side by side, they rode into the field opposite 
to the cottage. 

The heart of Frances beat with a pulsation nearly stifling, 
as he paused for a moment, and took a survey of the build- 
ing, with an eye whose dark and sparkling glance could be 


86 


THE SPY 


seen, notwithstanding the distance; — her colour changed, 
and for an instant, as she saw the youth throw himself 
from the saddle, she was compelled to seek relief for her 
trembling limbs in a chair. 

The officer gave a few hasty orders to his second in com- 
mand, walked rapidly into the lawn, and approached the 
cottage. Frances rose from her seat, and vanished from 
the apartment. The dragoon ascended the steps of the 
piazza, and had barely time to touch the outer door, when 
it opened to his admission. 

The youth of Frances, when she left the city, had pre- 
vented her sacrificing, in conformity to the customs of that 
day, all her native beauties on the altar of fashion. Her 
hair, which was of a golden richness of colour, was left, 
untortured, to fall in the natural ringlets of infancy, and it 
shaded a face which was glowing with the united charms 
of health, jmuth, and a^tlessness; — her eyes spoke volumes, 
but her tongue was silent; — her hands were interlocked 
before her, and, aided by her taper form, bending forward 
in an attitude of expectation, gave a loveliness and an in- * 
terest to her appearance, that for a moment chained her 
lover in silence to the spot. 

Frances silently led the way into a vacant parlour, op- 
posite to the one in which the family were assembled, and 
turning to the soldier frankly, placing both her hands in 
his own, exclaimed — 

“Ah, Dunwoodie! how happy, on many accounts, I am 
to see you! I have brought you in here, to prepare you to 
meet an unexpected friend in the opposite room.” 

“To whatever cause it may be owing,” cried the youth, ; 
pressing her hands to his lips, “I, too, am happy in being ^ 
able to see you alone. Frances, the probation you have '* 
decreed is cruel; war and distance may shortly separate / 
us for ever.” C' 

“We must submit to the necessity which governs us./| 
But it is not love speeches I would hear now; I have otherj 
and more important matter for your attention.” | 

“What can be of more importance than to make you} 
mine bv a tie that will be indissoluble! Frances, you arel 


THE SPY 


87 


cold to me — me — from whose mind, days of service and 
nights of alarm have never been able to banish your image 
for a single moment.” 

“Dear Dunwoodie,” said Frances, softening nearly to 
- tears, and again extending her hand to him, as the richness 
of her colour gradually returned, “you know my sentiments 
— this war once ended, and you may take that hand for 
ever — but I can never consent to tie myself to you by any 
closer union than already exists, so long as you are arrayed 
in arms against my only brother. Even now, that brother 
is awaiting your decision to restore him to liberty, or to 
conduct him to a probable death.” 

“Your brother!” cried Dunwoodie, starting and turning 
pale; “your brother! explain yourself — what dreadful 
meaning is concealed in your words?” 

“Has not Captain Lawton told you of the arrest of Henry 
by himself this very morning?” continued Frances, in a 
voice barely audible, and fixing on her lover a look of the 
deepest concern. 

“He told me of arresting a captain of the 60th in dis- 
guise, but without mentioning where or whom,” replied the 
Major in a similar tone; and dropping his head between his 
hands, he endeavoured to conceal his feelings from his com- 
panion. 

“Dunwoodie! Dunwoodie!” exclaimed Frances, losing 
all her former confidence in the most fearful apprehensions, 
“what means this agitation?” As the Major slowly raised 
his face, in which was pictured the most expressive con- 
cern, .she continued, “Surely, surely, you will not betray 
your friend — my brother — your brother — to an ignominious 
death.” 

“Frances!” exclaimed the young man in agony, “what 
can I do?” 

“Do!” she repeated, gazing at him wildly; “would Major 
Dunwoodie yield his friend to his enemies — the brother 
of his betrothed wife?” 

“Oh speak not so unkindly to me, dearest Miss Wharton 
— my own Frances. I would this moment die for you — for 
Henry — but I cannot forget my duty— cannot forfeit my 


88 


THE SPY 


lionour; you yourself would be the first to despise me if 
I did.” 

a “Peyton, Dunwoodie!” said Frances, solemnly, and with 
a fac.e of ashy paleness, “you have told me — you have 
sworn, that you loved me — ” 

“I do,” interrupted the soldier, with fervour; — but 
motioning for silence, she continued, in a voice that 
trembled with her fears — 

“Do you think I can throw myself into the arms of a 
man, whose hands are stained with the blood of my only 
brother?” • 

“Frances’ you wring my very heart;” then pausing, to 
struggle with his feelings, he endeavoured to force a smile, 
as he added, “but, after ,^11, we may be torturing ourselves 
with unnecessary fears, and Henry, when I know the cir- 
cumstances, may be nothing more than a prisoner of war; 
in which case, I can liberate him on parole.” 

There is no more delusive passion than hope; and it 
seems to be the happy privilege of youth to cull all the 
pleasures that can be gathered from its indulgence. It is 
when we are most worthy of confidence ourselves, that we 
are least apt to distrust others; and what we think ought 
to be, we are prone to think will be. 

The half-formed expectations of the young soldier were 
communicated to the desponding sister, more by the eye 
than the voice, and the blood rushed again to her cheek, 
as she cried — 

“Oh! there can be no just grounds to doubt it; I knew 
— I knew — Dunwoodie, you would never desert us in the 
hour of our greatest need!” The violence of her feelings 
prevailed, and the agitated girl found relief in a flood of 
tears. 

The office of consoling those we love is one of the dearest 
prerogatives of affection; and Major Dunwoodie, although 
but little encouraged by his own momentary suggestion of 
relief, could not undeceive the lovely girl, who leaned on 
his shoulder, as he wiped the traces of her feeling from her 
face, with a trembling, but reviving confidence, in the 
safety of her brother, and the protection of her lover. 


THE SPY 


89 


Frances having sufficiently recovered her recollection to 
command herself, now eagerly led the way into the opposite 
room, to communicate to her family the pleasing intelli- 
gence which she already conceived so certain. 

Dunwoodie followed her reluctantly, and with forebod- 
ings of the result; but, a few moments brought him into 
the presence of his relatives, and he summoned all his 
resolution to meet the trial with firmness. * 

The salutations of the young men were cordial and frank, 
and, on the part of Henry Wharton, as collected as it 
nothing had occurred to disturb his self-possession. 

The abhorrence of being, in any manner, auxiliary to the 
arrest of his friend; the danger to the life of Captain 
Wharton; and the heart-breaking declarations of Frances, 
had, however, created an uneasiness in the bosom of Major 
Dunwoodie, which all his efforts could not conceal. His 
reception by the rest of the family was kind and sincere, 
both from old regard, and a remembrance of former obli- 
gations, heightened by the anticipations they could not fail 
to read in the expressive eyes of the blushing girl by his 
side. After exchanging greetings with every member of 
the family. Major Dunwoodie beckoned Ao the sentinel, 
whom the Avary prudence of Captain Lawton had left in 
charge of the prisoner, to leave the room. Turning to 
Captain Wharton, he enquired mildly — 

“Tell me, Henry, the circumstances of this disguise, in 
which Captain Lawton reports you to have been found, and 
remember — remember — Captain Wharton — your answers 
are entirely voluntary.” 

“The disguise was used by me, Major Dunwoodie,” 
replied the English officer, gravely, “to enable me to visit 
my friends, without incurring the danger of becoming a 
prisoner of w'ar.” 

“But you did not wear it, until you saw the troop of 
Lawton approaching?” 

“Oh! no,” interrupted Frances, eagerly, forgetting all 
the circumstances in her anxiety for her brother; “Sarah 
and myself placed them on him when the dragoons ap- 
peared; it was our awkwardness that led to the discovery.” 


90 


THE SPY 


The countenance of Dunwoodie brightened, as, turning 
his eyes in fondness on the speaker, he listened to her 
explanation. 

“Probably some articles of your own,” he continued, 
“which were at hand, and were used on the spur of the 
moment.” 

“No,” said Wharton, with dignity; “the clothes were 
worn by me ‘from the city; they were procured for the 
purpose to which they were applied, and I intended to use 
them in my return this very day.” 

The appalled Frances shrunk back from between her 
brother and lover, where her ardent feelings had carried 
her, as the whole truth glanced over her mind, and she 
sunk into a seat, gazing wildly on the young men. 

“But the pickets — the party at the Plains?” added Dun- 
woodie, turning pale. 

“I passed them, too, in disguise. I made use of this pass, 
for which I paid; and, as it bears the name of Washington, 
I presume it is forged.” 

Dunwoodie caught the paper from his hand, eagerly, and 
stood gazing on the signature for some time in silence, dur- 
ing which the soldier gradually prevailed over the man; 
when he turned to the prisoner, with a searching look, as 
he asked — 

' “Captain Wharton, whence did you procure this paper?” 

“That is a question, I conceive, Major Dunwoodie has 
no right to ask.” 

“Your pardon, sir; my feelings may have led me into 
an impropriety.” 

Mr. Wharton, who had been a deeply interested auditor, 
now so far conquered his feelings as to say, “Surely, Major 
Dunwoodie, the paper cannot be material; such artifices 
are used daily in war.” 

“This name is no counterfeit,” said the dragoon, studying 
the characters, and speaking in a low voice: “is treason yet 
among us undiscovered? The confidence of Washington 
has been abused, for the fictitious name is in a different 
hand from the pass. Captain WTiarton, my duty will not 


THE SPY 


91 


suffer me to grant you a parole: you must accompany me 
to the Highlands.” 

'T dtd not expect otherwise, Major Dunwoodie.” 

Dunwoodie turned slowly towards the sisters, when the 
figure of Frances once more arrested his gaze. She had 
risen from her seat, and stood again with her hands clasped 
before him in an attitude of petition: feeling himself unable 
to contend longer with his feelings, he made a hurried ex- 
cuse for a temporary absence, and left the room. Frances 
followed him, and, obedient to the direction of her eye, the 
soldier re-entered the apartment in which had been their 
first interview. 

“Major Dunwoodie,” said Frances, in a voice barely 
audible, as she beckoned to him to be seated; her cheek, 
which had been of a chilling whiteness, was flushed with a 
suffusion that crimsoned her whole countenance; she 
struggled with herself for a moment, and continued — “I 
have already acknowledged to you my esteem; even now, 
when you most painfully distress me, I wish not to conceal 
it. Believe me, Henry is innocent of everything but im- 
prudence. ‘ Our country can sustain no wrong.” Again 
she paused, and almost gasped for breath; her colour 
changed rapidly from red to white, until the blood rushed 
into her face, covering her features with the brightest 
vermilion; and she added hastily, in an under-tone, “I 
have promised, Dunwoodie, when peace shall be restored 
to our country, to become your wife; give to my brother 
his liberty on parole, and I will this day go with you to the 
altar, follow you to the camp, and, in becoming a soldier’s 
bride, learn to endure a soldier’s privations.” 

Dunwoodie seized the hand which the blushing girl, in 
her ardour, had extended towards him, and pressed U for a 
moment to his bosom; then rising from his seat, he paced 
the room in excessive agitation. 

“Frances, say no more, I conjure you, unless you wish 
to break my heart.” 

“You then reject my offered hand?” she said, rising with 
dignity, though her pale cheek and quivering lip plainly 
showed the conflicting passions within. 


92 


THE SPY 


“Reject it! Have I not sought it with entreaties — with 
tears? Has it not been the goal of all my earthly wishes? 
But to take it under such conditions would be to dishonour 
both. We will hope for better things. Henry must be 
acquitted; perhaps not tried. No intercession of mine shall 
be wanting, you must well know; and believe me, Prances, 

I am not without favour with Washington.” 

“That very paper, that abuse of his confidence, to which 
you alluded, will steel him to my brother’s case. If threats 
or entreaties could move his stern sense of justice, would 
Andre have suffered?” As Prances uttered these words, 
she fied from the room in despair. 

Dunwoodie remained for a minute nearly stupefied; and 
then he followed with a view to vindicate himself, and to 
relieve her apprehensions. On entering the hall that 
divided the two parlours, he was met by a small ragged 
boy, who looked one moment at his dress, and placing a 
piece of paper in his hands, immediately vanished through 
the outer door of the building. The bewildered state of 
his mind, and the suddenness of the occurrence, gave the 
Major barely time to observe the messenger to be a country ■ 
lad, meanly attired, and that he held in his hand one of 
those toys which are to be bought in cities, and which he 
now apparently contemplated with the conscious pleasure : 
of having fairly purchased, by the performance of the ' 
service required. The soldier turned his eyes to the sub- 
ject of the note. It was written on a piece of torn and 
soiled paper, and in a hand barely legible; but, after some . 
little labour, he was able to make out as follows: — 

'"The rigHars are at hand, horse and foot:’ * 

* There died a few years since, in Bedford, West-Chester, a C 

yeoman named Elisha II . This person was employed by Wash- 'i 

ington as one of his most confldentiai spies. By the conditions of >' 

their bargain, JI was never to be required to deal with third | 

parties, since his risks were too imminent. lie was allowed to J 
enter also into the service of Sir Henry Clinton ; and so much | 
confidence had Washington, in his love of country and discretion* 
that he was often intrusted with the minor military movements, in ^ 
order that he might enhance his value with the English general,’ by J 
communicating them. In this- manner, II had continued toB 


THE SPY 


9^5 


Dunwoodie started; and, forgetting every thing but the 
duties of a soldier, he precipitately left the house. While 
walking rapidly towards the troops, he noticed on a distant 
hill a vidette riding with speed: several pistols were fired 
in quick succession; and the next instant the trumpets of 
the corps rang in his ears with the enlivening strain of “To 

serve for a long period, when chance brought him into the city 
(then held by the British) at a moment when an expedition was 
about to quit it, to go against a small post established at Bedford, 
his native village, where the Americans had a depot of provisions. 
H easily ascertained the force and destination of the detach- 

ment ordered on this service, but he was at a loss in what manner 
to communicate his information to the officer in command at Bed- 
ford, without betraying his own true character to a third person. 
There was not time to reach Washington, and under the circum- 
stances he finally resolved to hazard a shorty note to the American 
commandant stating the danger and naming the time when the 
attack might be expected. To this note he even ventured to affix 
his own initials E. II., though he had disguised the hand under a 
belief that, as he knew himself to be suspected by his countrymen, 
it might serve to give more weight to his warning. His family 
being at Bedford, the note was transmitted with facility, and 
arrived in good season, H himself remaining in New York. 

The American commandant did what every sensible officer, in a 
similar case, would have done. He sent a courier with the note to 
Washington, demanding orders, while he prepared his little party 
to make the best defence in his power. 

The headquarters of the American army were, at that time, in 
the Highlands. Fortunately, the express met Washington on a tour 
of observation near their entrance. The note was given to him. 
and he read it^ in the saddle, adding, in pencil, “Believe all that 
E. H. tells you, George Washington.” He returned it to the courier, 
with an injunction to ride for life or death. 

The courier reached Bedford after the British had made their 
attack. The commandant read the reply, and put it in his pocket. 
The Americans were defeated, and their leader killed. The note 

of II , with the line written on it by Washington, was found 

on his person. 

The following day H was summoned to the presence of Sir 

Henry Clinton. After the latter had put several general questions, 
he suddenly gave the note to the spy, and asked if he knew the 
handwu’iting', and demanding who the E. H. was. “It is Elijah 
Hadden, the spy you hanged yesterday, at Bowles Hook.” The 
readiness of this answer, connected with the fact that a spy 
having the same initials had been executed the day before, and the 

coolness of H saved him. Sir Henry Clinton allowed him to 

quit his presence, and he never saw him afterwards. 


94 


THE SPY 


arms!” By the time he had reached the ground occupied 
by his squadron, the Major saw that every man was in 
active motion. Lawton was already in the saddle, eyeing 
the opposite extremity of the valley with the eagerness of 
expectation, and crying to the musicians, in tones but little 
lower than their own — 

“Sound away, my lads, and let these Englishmen know, 
that the Virginia horse are between them and the end of 
their journey.” 

The videttes and patrols now came pouring in, each mak- 
ing in succession his hasty report to the commanding 
officer, who gave his orders coolly, and with a promptitude 
that made obedience certain. Once only, as he wheeled his 
horse to ride over the ground in front, did Dunwoodie 
trust himself with a look at the cottage, and his heart beat 
with unusual rapidity as he saw a female figure standing, 
with clasped hands, at a window of the room in which he 
bad met Frances. The distance was too great to distinguish 
her features, but the soldier could not doubt that it was 
his mistress. The paleness of his cheek and the languor 
of his eye endured but for a moment longer. As he rode 
towards the intended battle-ground, a fiush of ardour began 
to show itself on his sun-burnt features; and his dragoons, 
who studied the face of their leader, as the best index to 
their own fate, saw again the wonted flashing of the eyes, 
and the cheerful animation, which they had so often wit- 
nessed on the eve of battle. By the additions of the videttes 
and parties that had been out, and which now had all 
joined,. the whole number of the horse was increased to 
nearly two hundred. There was also a small body of men, 
whose ordinary duties were those* of guides, but who, in 
cases of emergency, were embodied and did duty as foot- 
soldiers; these were dismounted, and proceeded, by the 
order of Dunwoodie, to level the few fences which might 
interfere with the intended movements of the cavalry. The 
neglect of husbandry, which had been occasioned by the 
war, left this task comparatively easy. Those long lines 
of heavy and durable walls, which now sweep through 
every part of the country, forty years ago were unknown. 


THE SPY 


95 


The slight and tottering fences of stone were then used 
more to clear the land for the purposes of cultivation than 
as permanent barriers, and required the constant attention 
of the husbandmen, to preserve them against the fury of 
the tempests and the frosts of winter. Some few of them 
had been built with more care immediately around the 
dwelling of Mr. Wharton; but those which had intersected 
the vale below were now generally a pile of ruins, over’ 
which the horses of the Virginians would bound with the 
fleetness of the Avind. Occasionally a short line yet pre- 
served its erect appearance; but as none of these crossed 
the ground on which Dunwoodie intended to act, there 
remained only the slighter fences of rails to be thrown 
down. Their duty was hastily, but effectually, performed; 
and the guides withdrew to the post assigned to them for 
the approaching flght. 

Major Dunwoodie had received from his scouts all the 
intelligence concerning his foe, which was necessary to 
enable him to make his arrangements. The bottom of the 
valley was an even plain, that fell with a slight inclination 
from the foot of the hills on either side, to the level of a 
natural meadow that wound through the country on the 
banks of a small stream, by whose waters it was often 
inundated and fertilised. This brook was easily forded in 
any part of its course; and the only impediment it offered 
to the movements of the horse, was in a place where it 
changed its bed from the western to the eastern side of 
the valley, and where its banks were more steep and diffi- 
cult of access than common. Here the highway crossed it 
by a rough wooden bridge, as it did again at the distance 
of half a mile above the Locusts. 

The hills on the eastern side of the valley were abrupt, 
and frequently obtruded themselves in rocky prominences 
into its bosom, lessening the width to half the usual dimen- 
sions. One of these projections was but a short distance in 
the rear of the squadron of dragoons, and Dunwoodie 
directed Captain Lawton to withdraw, with two troops, 
behind its cover. The officer obeyed with a kind of surly 
reluctance,? that was, however, somewhat lessened by the 


96 


THE SPY 


anticipations of the effect his sudden appearance would 
make on the enemy. Dunwoodie knew his man, and had 
selected the captain for this service, both because he feared' 
his precipitation in the field, and knew, when needed, his 
support would never fail to appear. It was only in front 
of the enemy that Captain Lawton was hasty; at all other 
times his discernment and self-possession were consum- 
♦ mately preserved; hut he sometimes forgot them in his 
eagerness to engage. On the left of the ground on which 
Dunwoodie intended to meet his foe, was a close wood, 
which skirted that si-de of the valley for the distance of a 
mile. Into this,- then, the guides retired, and took their 
station near its edge, in such a manner as would enable 
them to maintain a scattering, but effectual fire, on the 
advancing column of the enemy. 

It cannot be supposed that all these preparations were 
made unheeded by the inmates of the cottage; on the con- 
trary, every feeling which can agitate the human breast 
, in witnessing such a scene, was actively alive. Mr. Whar- 
ton alone saw no hopes to himself in the termination of 
the conflict. If the British should prevail, his son would 
be liberated; but what would then be his own fate! He 
had hitherto preserved his neutral character in the midst 
of trying circumstances. The fact of his having a son in 
the royal, or, as it was called, the regular army, had very 
nearly brought his estates to the hammer. Nothing had 
obviated this result, but the powerful interest of the rela- 
tion, who held a high political rank in the state, and his 
own vigilant prudence. In his heart, he \^as ^ devoted 
loyalist; and wheii the blushing Prances had communi- 
cated to him the wishes of her lover, on their return from 
the American camp the preceding spring, the consent he 
had given, to her future union with a rebel, was as much - 
extracted by the increasing necessity which existed for his 
obtaining republican support, as by any considerations for jt 
the happiness of his child. Should his son now be rescued, | 
he would, in the public mind, be united with him as a I 
plotter against the freedom of the States; and should he 1 
remain a captive, and undergo the impending trial, the ■ 


THE SPY 


97 


consequences might he still more dreadful. Much as he 
loved his wealth, Mr, Wharton loved his children better; 
and he sat gazing on the movements without, with a list- 
less vacancy in his countenance, that fully denoted his 
imbecility of character. 

Far different were the feelings of the son. Captain 
Wharton had been left in the keeping of two dragoons; 
one of whom marched to and fro on the piazza with a 
measured tread, and the other had been directed to con- 
tinue in the same apartment with his prisoner. The young 
man had witnessed all the movements of Dunwoodie with 
admiration mingled with fearful anticipations of the con- 
sequences to his friends. He particularly disliked the 
ambush of the detachment under Lawton, who could be 
distinctly seen from the windows of the cottage, cooling his 
impatience, by pacing on foot the ground in front of his 
men. Henry Wharton threw several hasty and enquiring 
glances around, to see if no means of liberation would 
offer, but invariably found the eyes of his sentinel fixed on 
him with the watchfulness of an Argus, He longed, with 
the ardour of youth, to join in the glorious fray, but was 
compelled to remain a dissatisfied spectator of a scene in 
which he would so cheerfully have been an actor. Miss 
Peyton and Sarah continued gazing on the preparations 
with varied emotions, in which concern for the fate of the 
Captain formed the most prominent feeling, until the 
moment the shedding of blood seemed approaching, when, 
with the timidity of their sex, they sought the retirement 
of an inner room. Not so Prances: she returned to the 
apartment where she had left Dunwoodie, and, from one 
of its windows, had been a deeply interested spectator of 
all his movements. The wheelings of the troops, the deadly 
preparations, had all been unnoticed; she saw her lover 
only, and with mingled emotions of admiration and dread 
that nearly chilled her. At one moment the blood rushed 
to her heart, as she saw the young warrior riding through 
his ranks, giving life and courage to all whom he ad- 
dressed; and the next, it curdled with the thought, that 
the very gallantry she so much valued might prove the 


98 


THE SPY 


means of placing the grave between her and the object of 
her regard. Frances gazed until she could look no longer. 

In a field on the left of the cottage, and at a short dis- 
tance in the rear of the troops, was a small group, whose 
occupation seemed to differ from that of all around them. 
They were in number only three, being two men and a 
mulatto boy. The principal personage of this party was a 
man, whose leanness made his really tall stature appear 
excessive. He wore spectacles — was unarmed, had dis- 
mounted, and seemed to be dividing his attention between 
a segar, a book, and the incidents of the field before him. 
To this party Frances determined to send a note, directed 
to Dunwoodie. She wrote hastily, with a pencil, “Come to 
me, Peyton, if it he hut for a moment;" and Caesar emerged 
from the cellar kitchen, taking the precaution to go by the 
rear of the building, to avoid the sentinel on the piazza, 
who had very cavalierly ordered all the family to remain 
housed. The black delivered the note to the gentleman, 
Avith a request that it might be forwarded to Major Dun- 
woodie. It was the surgeon of the horse to whom Caesar 
addressed himself; and the teeth of the African chattered, 
as he saw displayed upon the ground the several instru- 
ments which were in preparation for the anticipated opera- 
tions. The doctor himself seemed to view the arrangement 
Avith great satisfaction, as he deliberately raised his* eyes 
from his book to order the boy to convey the note to his 
commanding officer, and then dropping ^them quietly on the 
page, he continued his occupation. Caesar was slowly retir- 
ing, as the third personage, who by his dress might be an 
inferior assistant of the surgical department, coolly en- 
quired “if he would have a leg taken off?” This question 
seemed to remind the black of the existence of those limbs; 
for he made such use of them as to reach the piazza at- 
the same instant that Major Dunwoodie rode up, at half 
speed. The brawny sentinel squared himself, and poised 
his sword with military precision, as he stood on his post,^ 
while his officer passed; but no sooner had the door closed, 
than, turning to the negro, he said, sharply — 

“Harkee, blackey, if you quit the house again without myj 


THE 


99 


knowledge, 1 shall turn barber, and shave off one of those 
^ ebony ears with this razor.” 

Thus assailed in another member, Caesar hastily re- 
treated into his kitchen, muttering something, in which the 
words “Skinner, and rebel rascal,” formed a principal part 
of his speech. 

“Major Dunwoodie,” said Frances to her lover as he 
entered, “I may have done you injustice; if I have appeared 
harsh — ” 

The emotions of the agitated girl prevailed, and she 
burst into tears. 

“Frances,” cried the soldier with warmth, “you are nevei 
harsh, never unjust, but when you doubt my love.” 

“Ah! Dunwoodie,” added the sobbing girl, “you are 
about to risk your life in battle; remember that there is 
one heart whose happiness is built on your safety; brave 
I know you are; be prudent — ” 

“For your sake?” enquired the delighted youth. 

“For my sake,” replied Frances, in a voice barely audible, 
and dropping on his bosom. 

Dunwoodie folded her to his heart, and was about to 
speak, as a trumpet sounded in the southern end of the 
vale. Imprinting one long kiss of affection on her unre- 
sisting lips, the soldier tore himself from his mistress, and 
hastened to the scene of strife. * 

Frances threw herself on a sofa, buried her head under 
its cushion, and with her shawl drawn over her face, to 
exclude as much of sound as possible, continued there until 
the shouts of the combatants, the rattling of the fire-arms, 
and the thundering tread of the horses, had ceased. 


» 


\ 


CHAPTER VII 


The game’s afoot; 

Follow your spirit. 


Shakspeare. 


The rough and unimproved face of the country, the f re- ' 
quency of covers, together with the great distance from 
their own country, and the facilities afforded them for 
rapid movements to the different points of the war, by the : 
undisputed command of the ocean, had united to deter the 'i 
English from employing a heavy force in cavalry, in their 
early efforts to subdue the revolted colonies. 

Only one regiment of regular horse was sent from the 
mother country, during the struggle. But legions and . 
independent corps were formed in different places, as it 
best accorded with the views of the royal commanders, 
or suited the exigency, of the times. These were not un- 
frequently composed of men raised in the colonies, and 
at other times drafts were had from the regiments of the 
line, and the soldier was made to lay aside the musket and 
bayonet, and taught to wield the sabre and carabine. One 
particular body of the subsidiary troops was included in 
this arrangement, and the Hessian yagers were transformed 
into a corps of heavy and inactive horse. 

Opposed to them were the hardiest spirits of America. ^ 
Most of the cavalry regiments of the continental army were 
led and officered by gentlemen from the south. The high 
and haughty courage of the commanders had communicated | 
itself to the privates, who were men selected with care and t 
great attention to the service they were intended to per- J 
form. ^ 

While the British were confined to their empty conquests '■ I 
in the possession of a few of the larger towns, or marched 
through counties that were swept of every thing like mili- 


. 100 


THE SPY 


101 


tary supplies, the light troops of their enemies had the 
range of the whole interior. 

The sufferings of the line of the American army were 
great beyond example; but possessing the power, and feel- 
ing themselves engaged in a cause which justified severity, 
the cavalry officers were vigilant in providing for their 
wants, and the horse were well mounted, well fed, and 
consequently eminently effective. Perhaps the world could 
not furnish more brave, enterprising, and resistless corps 
• of light cavalry, than a few that were in the continental 
service at the time of which Aye write. 

Dunwoodie’s men had often tried their prowess against 
the enemy, and they now sat panting to be led once more 
against foes whom they seldom charged in vain. Their 
wishes were soon to be gratified; for their commander had 
scarcely time to regain his seat in the saddle, before a body 
of the enemy came sweeping round the hh,se of the hill, 
which intersected the view to the south. A few minutes 
enabled the Major to distinguish their character. In one 
troop he saw the green coats of the Cow-Boys, and in the 
other the leathern helmets and wooden saddles of the 
yagers. Their numbers were about equal to the body under 
his immediate orders. 

On reaching the open space near the cottage of Harvey 
Birch, the enemy halted and drew up his men in line, evi- 
dently making preparations for a charge. At this moment 
a column of foot appeared in the vale, and pressed forward 
to the bank of the brook we have already mentioned. 

Major Dunwoodie was not less distinguished by coolness 
and judgment, than, where occasion offered, by his daunt- 
less intrepidity. He at once saw his advantage, and de- 
termined to profit by it. The column he led began slowly 
to retire from the field, when the youthful German, who 
commanded the enemy’s horse, fearful of missing an easy 
conquest, gave the word to charge. Few troops were more 
hardy than the Cow-Boys; they sprang eagerly forward in 
the pursuit, with a confidence created by the retiring foe 
and the column in their rear; the Hessians followed more 
slowly, but in better order. The trumpets of the Virginians 


102 


THE SPY 


now sounded long and lively; they were answered by a 
strain from the party in ambush that went to the hearts 
of their enemies. The column of Dunwoodie wheeled in 
perfect order, opened, and, as the word to charge was given, 
the troops of Lawton emerged from their cover, with their 
leader in advance, waving his sabre over his head, and 
shouting, in a voice that was heard above the clangour of 
the martial music. 

The charge threatened too much for the refugee troop. 
They scattered in every direction, flying from the field as 
fast as their horses, the chosen beasts of West-Chester, 
could carry them. Only a few were hurt; but such as did 
meet the arms of their avenging countrymen never sur- 
vived the blow, to tell who struck it. It was upon the 
poor vassals of the German tyrant that the shock fell. 
Disciplined to the most exact obedience, these ill-fated men 
met the charge bravely, but they were swept before the 
mettled horses and nervous arms of their antagonists like 
chaff before the wind. Many of them were literally ridden 
down, and Dunwoodie soon saw the field without an oppos- 
ing foe. The proximity of the infantry prevented pursuit, 
and behind its column the few Hessians who escaped un- 
hurt sought protection. 

The more cunning refugees dispersed in small bands, 
taking various and devious routes back to their old station 
4 in front of Harlem. Many was the sufferer, in cattle, 
furniture, and person, that' was created by this rout; for 
the dispersion of a troop of Cow-Boys^ was only the exten- 
sion of an evil. 

Such a scene could not be expected to be acted so near 
them, and the inmates of the cottage take no interest in 
the result. In truth, the feelings it excited pervaded every 
bosom, from the kitchen to the parlour. Terror and horror 
had prevented the ladies from being spectators, but they 
aid not feel the less. Prances continued lying in the pos- 
ture we have mentioned, offering up fervent and inco- 
herent petitions for the safety of her countrymen, although 
in her inmost heart she. had personified her nation by the 
graceful image of Peyton Dunwoodie. Her aunt and sister 


THE SPY 


103 


were less exclusive in their devotions; but Sarah began 
to feel, as the horrors of war were thus brought home to 
her senses, less pleasure in her anticipated triumphs. 

The inmates of Mr. Wharton’s kitchen were four — 
namely, Csesar and his spouse, their grand daughter, a jet- 
black damsel of twenty, and the boy before alluded to. 
The blacks were the remnants of a race of negroes which 
had been entailed on his estate from Mr. Wharton’s mater- 
nal ancestors, who were descended from the early Dutch 
colonists. Time, depravity, and death had reduced them 
to this small number; and the boy, who was white, had 
been added by Miss Peyton to the establishment, as an 
assistant, to perform the ordinary services of a footman. 
Caesar, after first using the precaution to place himself 
under the cover of an angle in the wall, for a screen against 
any roving bullet which might be traversing the air, be- 
came an amused spectator of the skirmish. The sentinel on 
/the piazza was at the distance of but a few' feet from him, 
and he entered into the spirit of the chase with all the 
ardour of a tried blood-hound : he noticed the approach of 
the black, and his judicious position, with a smile of con- 
tempt, as he squared himself towards the enemy, offering 
his unprotected breast to any dangers which might come. 

After considering the arrangement of Caesar, for a mo- 
ment, with ineffable disdain, the dragoon said, with great 
coolness — 

“You seem very careful of that beautiful person of yours, 
Mr. Blueskin.” 

“A bullet hurt a coloured man ae much as a white,” 
muttered the black, surlily, casting a glance of much satis- 
faction at his rampart. 

“Suppose I make the experiment,” returned the sentinel: 
as he spoke, he deliberately drew a pistol from his belt, and 
levelled it at the black. Caesar’s teeth chattered at the 
appearance of the dragoon, although he believed nothing 
serious was intended. At this moment the column of Dun- 
woodie began to retire, and the royal cavalry commenced 
their charge. 

“There, Mister Light-Horseman,” said Caesar, eagerly, 


104 


THE SPY 


who believed the Americans were retiring in earnest; “why 
you rebels don’t fight — see — see how King George’s men 
make Major Dunwoodie run! Good gentleman, too, but he 
don’t like to fight a rig’lar.” 

“Damn your regulars,’’ cried the other, fiercely: “wait 
a minute, blackey, and you’ll see Captain Jack Lawton 
come out from behind yonder hill, and scatter these Cow- 
Boys like wild geese who’ve lost their leader.” 

Caesar supposed the party under Lawton to have sought 
the shelter of the hill from motives similar to that which 
had induced him to place the wall between himself and the 
battle-ground; but the fact soon verified the trooper’s 
prophecy, and the black witnessed with consternation the 
total rout of the royal horse. 

The sentinel manifested his exultation at the success of 
his comrades with loud _shouts, which soon brought his 
companion, who had been left in the more immediate 
charge of Henry Wharton, to the open window of the 
parlour. 

“See, Tom, see,” cried the delighted trooper, “how Cap- 
tain Lawton makes that Hessian’s leather cap fly; and now 
the Major has killed the officer’s horse — zounds, why 
didn’t he kill the Dutchman, and save the horse?” 

A few pistols were discharged at the flying Cow-Boys, 
and a spent bullet broke a pane of glass within a few feet 
of Caesar. Imitating the posture of the great tempter of 
our race, the black sought the protection of the inside of 
the building, and immediately ascended to the parlour. 

The lawn in front of the Locusts was hidden from the 
view of the road by a close line of shrubbery, and the 
horses of the two dragoons had been left, linked together 
under its shelter to await the movements of their masters. 

At this moment two Cow-Boys, who had been cut off 
from a retreat to their own party, rode furiously through 
the gate, with an intention of escaping to the open wood in 
the rear of the cottage. 

The victorious Americans pressed the retreating Ger- 
mans until they had driven them under the protection of 
the fire of the infantry; and feeling themselves, in the 


THE SPY 


105 


privacy of the lawn, relieved from any immediate danger, 
the predatory warriors yielded to a temptation that few of 
the corps were ever known to resist — opportunity and 
horseflesh. With a hardihood and presence of mind that 
could only exist from long practice in similar scenes, they 
made towards their intended prizes, by an almost spon- 
taneous movement. They were busily engaged in separating 
the fastenings of the horses, when the trooper on the piazza 
discharged his pistols, and rushed, sword in hand, to the 
rescue. 

The entrance of Caesar into the parlour had induced the 
wary dragoon within, to turn his attention more closely on 
his prisoner; but this new interruption drew him again to 
the window. He threw his body out of the building, and 
with dreadful imprecations endeavoured, by his threats 
and appearance, to frighten the marauders ’from their prey. 
The moment was enticing. Three hundred of his comrades 
were within a mile of the cottage; unridden horses were 
running at large in every direction, and Henry Wharton 
seized the unconscious sentinel by his legs, and threw him 
headlong into the lawn. — Caesar vanished from the room, 
and drew’ a bolt of the outer door. 

The fall of the soldier was not great, and recovering his 
feet, he turned his fury for a moment on his prisoner. To 
scale the window in the face of such an enemy, was, how^- 
ever, impossible, and on trial he found the main entrance 
barred. 

His comrade now called loudly upon him for aid, and 
forgetful of every thing else, the discomfited trooper rushed 
to his 'assistance. One horse was instantly liberated, but 
the other was already fastened to the saddle of a Cow’-Boy, 
and the four retired behind the building, cutting furiously 
at each other with their sabres, and making the air resound 
with their imprecations. CsBsar threw the outer door open, 
and pointing to the remaining horse, that was quietly bit- 
ing the faded herbage of the lawn, he exclaimed — 

“Run — now — run — Massa Harry, run.” 

“Yes,” cried the youth as he vaulted into the saddle, 
“n6w%. indeed, my honest fellow% is the time to run.” He 


106 


THE SPY 


beckoned hastily to his father, who stood at the window 
in speechless anxiety, with his hands extended towards his 
child in the attitude of benediction, and adding, “God 
bless you, Caesar, salute the girls,” he dashed through the 
gate, with the rapidity of lightning. 

The African watched him with anxiety as he gained the 
highway, saw him incline to the right, and riding furiously 
under the brow of some rocks, which on that side rose per- 
pendicularly, disappear behind a projection, which soon 
hid him from view. 

The delighted Caesar closed the door, pushing bolt after 
bolt, and turning the key until it would turn no more, solil- 
oquising the whole time on the happy escape of his young 
master. < 

“How well he ride— teach him good deal myself — salute 
a young lady — Miss Fanny wouldn’t let old coloured man 
kiss a red cheek.” 

When the fortune of the day was decided, and the time 
ari^ived for the burial of the dead, two Cow-Boys and a 
Virginian were found in the rear of the Locusts, to be 
Included in the numbdr. 

Happily for Henry Wharton, the searching eyes of his 
captor were examining, through a pocket-glass, the column 
of infantry that still held its position on the bank* of the 
stream, while the remnants of the Hessian yagers were 
seeking its friendly protection. His horse was of the best 
blood of Virginia, and carried him with the swiftness of 
the wind along the valley; and the heart of the youth was 
already beating tumultuously with pleasure at his jjeliver- 
ance when a well-known voice reached his/ startled ear, 
crying aloud — 

“Bravely done. Captain! Don’t spare the whip, and turn 
to your left before you cross the brook.” 

Wharton turned his head in surprise, and saw, sitting on 
the point of a jutting rock that commanded a bird’s eye 
view of the valley, his former guide, Harvey Birch. His 
pack, much diminished in size, lay at the feet of the pedler, 
who waved his hat to the youth, exultingly, as the latter 
flew by him. The English captain took the advice of this 


THE SPY 


107 


mysterious being, and finding a good road, which ied to 
the highway that intersected the valley, turned down its 
direction, and was soon opposite to his friends. The next 
minute he crossed the bridge, and stopped his charger be- 
fore his old acquaintance. Colonel Wellmere. 

“Captain Wharton!” exclaimed the astonished com- 
mander of the English troops, “dressed in mohair, and 
mounted on a rel^el dragoon horse! are you from the clouds 
in this attire, and in such a style?” 

“Thank God!” cried the youth, recovering his breath, “I 
am safe, and have escaped from the hands of my enemies; 
but five minutes since and I was a prisoner, and threatened 
Avith the gallows.” 

“The gallows. Captain Wharton; surely those traitors to 
the king would never dare to commit another murder in 
cold blood; is it not enough that they took the life of 
Andre? wherefore did they threaten you with a similar 
fate?” 

“Under the pretence of a similar offence,” said the Cap- 
tain, briefiy explaining to the group of listeners the manner 
of his capture, the grounds of his personal apprehensions', 
and the method of his escape. By the time he had con- 
cluded his narration, the fugitive Germans were collected 
in the rear of the- column of infantry, and Colonel Wellmere 
cried aloud — 

“From my soul I congratulate you, my brave friend; 
mercy is a quality with which these traitors are unac- 
quainted, and you are doubly fortunate in escaping from 
their hands uninjured. Prepare yourself to grant me your 
assistance, and I will soon afford you a noble revenge.” 

“I do not think there was danger of personal outrage to 
any man. Colonel Wellmere, from a party that Major Dun- 
woodie commands,” returned young Wharton, with a slight 
glow on his face: “his character is above the imputation 
of such an offence; neither do I think it altogether prudent 
to cross this brook into the open plain, in the face of those 
Virginia horse, flushed as they must be with the success 
that they have just obtained.” 

“Do you call the rout of those irregulars and these 


108 


THE SPY 


sluggish Hessians a deed to boast of?” said the other with 
a contemptuous smile: “you speak of the affair. Captain 
Wharton, as if your boasted Mr. Dunwoodie, for Major he 
is none, had discomfited the body guards of your king.’; 

“And I must be allowed to say, Colonel Wellmere, that if 
the body guards of my king were in yon field, they would 
meet a foe that it would be dangerous to despise. Sir, my 
boasted Mr. Dunwoodie is the pride of Washington’s army 
as^ cavalry officer,” cried Henry, with ^varmth. 

'^Dunwoodie — Dunwoodie!” repeated the Colonel slowly; 
“surely I have met the gentleman before.” 

“I have been told you once saw him for a moment, at 
the town residence of my sisters,” replied Wharton, with a 
lurking smile. 

“Ah! 1 do remember me of such a youth; and does the 
most potent congress of these rebellious colonies intrust 
their soldiers to the leading of such a warrior?” 

“Ask the commander of yon Hessian horse, w^hether he 
thinks Major Dunwoodie worthy of the confidence.” 

Colonel Wellmere was far from wanting that kind of 
pride which makes a man bear himself bravely in the 
presence of his enemies. He had served in America a long 
time, without ever meeting with any but new raised levies, 
or the militia of the country. These would sometimes 
fight, and that fearlessly, but they as often chose to run 
away without pulling a trigger. He was too apt to judge 
from externals, and thought it impossible for men whose 
gaiters were so 'dean, whose tread so regular, and who 
wheeled with so much accuracy, to be beaten. In addition 
to all these, they were Englishmen, and their success was 
certain. Colonel Wellmere had never been kept much in 
the field, or these notions, which he had brought with him 
from home, and which had been greatly increased by the 
vapouring of a garrisoned town, would have long since 
vanished. He listened to the warm reply of Captain 
Wharton with a supercilious smile, and then enquired — 

“You would not have us retire, sir, before these boasted 
horsemen, without doing something that may deprive them 


THE SPY 


loa 

of part of the glory which you appear to think they have 
< gained?” 

“I would have you advised, Colonel Wellmere, of the 
danger you are about to encounter.” 

“Danger is but an unseemly word for a soldier,” con- 
tinued the British commander with a sneer. 

“And one as little dreaded by the 60th as any corps who 
wear the royal livery,” cried Henry Wharton, fiercely; 
“give but the word to charge, and let our actions speak.” 

“Now again I know my young friend,” said Wellmere, 
soothingly; “but if you have anything to say before we 
fight, that can in a*ny manner help us in our attack, we’ll 
listen. You know the force of the rebels; are there more 
of them in ambush?” 

“Yes,” replied the youth, chafing still with the other’s 
sneers, “in the skirt of this wood on our right are a small 
. party of foot: their horse are all before you.” 

“Where they will not continue long,” cried Wellmere, 
turning to the few officers around him. “Gentlemen, we 
will cross the stream in column, and display on the plain 
beyond, or else we shall not be able to entice these valiant 
Yankees within the reach of our muskets. Captain Whar- 
ton, I claim your assistance as an aide-de-camp.” 

The youth shook his head in disapprobation of a move- 
^ ment which his good sense taught him was rash, but pre- 
pared with alacrity to perform his duty in the impending 
trial. 

During this conversation, which was held at a small 
distance in advance of the British column, and in full view 
of the Americans, Dunwoodie had been collecting his scat- 
tered troops, securing his few prisoners, and retiring to the 
ground where he had been posted at the first appearance 
of his enemy. Satisfied with the success he had already 
^obtained, and believing the English too wary to give him 
an opportunity of harassing them farther, he was about to 
withdraw the guides; and, leaving a strong party on the 
; ground to watch the movement of the regulars, to fall back 
Va few miles, to a favourable place for taking up his quar- 


THE SPY 


110 

ters for the night. Captain Lawton was reluctantly listen- 
ing to the reasoning of his commander, and had brought 
out his favourite glass, to see if no opening could be found 
for an advantageous attack, when he suddenly exclaimed — 

“How’s this? a blue coat among those scarlet gentry. 
As I hope to live to see old Virginia, it is my masquerading 
friend of the 60th, the handsome Captain Wharton, escaped 
from two of my best men!” 

He had not done speaking when the survivor of these 
heroes joined his troop, bringing with him his own horse 
and those of the Cow-Boys: he reported the death of his 
comrade, and the escape of his prisoner. As the deceased 
was the immediate sentinel over the person of young Whar- 
ton, and the other was not to be blamed for defending the 
horses, which were more particularly under his care, his 
captain heard him with uneasiness, but without anger. 

This intelligence made an entire change in the views of 
Major Dunwoodie. He saw at once thatvhis own reputation 
was involved in the escape of his prisoner. ’ The order to 
recall the guides was countermanded, and he now joined 
his second in command, watching as eagerly as the im- 
petuous Lawton himself, for some opening to assail his foe 
to advantage. 

But two hours before, and Dunwoodie had felt the chance 
which made Henry Wharton his captive, as the severest 
blow he had ever sustained. Now he panted for an oppor- 
tunity in which, by risking his own life, he might recapture 
his friend. All other considerations were lost in the goad- 
ings of a wounded spirit, and he might have soon em.ulated 
Lawton in hardihood, had not Wellmere and his troops at 
this moment crossed the brook into the open plain. 

“There,” cried the delighted Captain, as he pointed out 
the movement with his finger, “there comes John Bull into 
the mouse-trap, and with eyes wide open.” ' 

“Surely,” said Dunwoodie eagerly, “he will not display 
his column on that flat: Wharton must tell him of the 
ambush. But if he does — ” 

“We will not leave him a dozen sound skins in his bat- 
talion,” interrupted the other, springing into his saddle. 


THE SPY 


111 


The truth was soon apparent; for the English column, 
after advancing for a short distance on the level land, dis- 
played with an accuracy that would have done them honour 
on a field-day in their own Hyde Park, 

“Prepare to mount — mount!” cried Dunwoodie; the last 
word being repeated by I^awton in a tone that rang in the 
ears of Caesar, who stood at the open window of the cot- 
tage. The black recoiled in dismay, having lost all his 
confidence in Captain Lawton’s timidity; for he thought he 
yet saw him emerging from his cover and waving his sword 
on high. 

As the British line advanced slowly and in exact order, 
the guides opened a galling fire. It began to annoy that 
part of the royal troops which yas nearest to them. Well- 
mere listened to the advice of the veteran who was next 
to him in rank, and ordered two companies to dislodge the 
American foot from their hiding-place. The movement’^ 
created a slight confusion; and Dunwoodie seized the 
opportunity to charge. No ground could be more favour- 
able for the manoeuvres of horse, and the attack of the 
Virginians was irresistible. It was aimed chiefly at the 
bank opposite to the wood, in order to clear the Americans 
from the fire of their friends who were concealed; and it 
was completely successful. Wellmere, who was on the left 
of his line, was overthrown by the impetuous fury of his 
assailants. Dunwoodie was in time to save him from the 
impending blow of one of his men, and raised him from 
the ground, had him placed on a horse, and delivered to the 
custody of his orderly. The officer who had suggested the 
attack upon the guides had been intrusted with its execu- 
tion, but the menace' was sufficient for these irregulars. In 
fact, their duty w'as performed, and they retired along the 
skirt of the wood, with intent to regain their horses, which 
had b^en left under a guard at the upper end of the valley. 

The left of the British line was outflanked by the Amer- 
icans, who doubled in their rear, and thus made the rout 
in that quarter total. But the second in command, per- 
ceiving how the battle went, promptly wheeled his party 
and threw in a heavy fire on the dragoons, as they passed 


112 


THE SPY 


him to the charge: with this party was Henry Wharton, 
who had volunteered to assist in dispersing the guides; a 
ball struck his bridle-arm, and compelled him to change 
hands. As the dragoons dashed by them, rending the air 
with their shouts, and with trumpets sounding a lively 
strain, the charger ridden by the youth became ungovern- 
able — he plunged, reared, and his rider being unable, with 
his wounded arm, to manage the impatient animal, Henry 
Wharton found himself, in less than a minute, unwillingly 
riding by the side of Captain Lawton. The dragoon com- 
, prehended at a glance the ludicrous situation of his new 
comrade, but had only time to cry aloud, before they 
plunged into the English line — 

“The horse knows the righteous cause better than his 
rider. Captain Wharton, you are welcome to the ranks 
of freedom.” 

No time was lost, however, by Lawton, after the charge 
was completed, in securing his prisoner again; and, per- 
ceiving him to be hurt, he directed him to be conveyed to 
the rear. 

The Virginian troopers dealt out their favours, with no 
gentle hands, on that part of the royal foot who were thus 
left in a great measure at their mercy. Dunwoodie, observ- 
ing that the remnant of the Hessians had again ventured 
on the plain, led on in pursuit, and easily overtaking their 
light and half-fed horses, soon destroyed the remainder of 
the detachment. 

In the mean while, great numbers of the English, taking 
advantage of the smoke and confusion in the field, were 
enabled to get in the rear of the body of their countrymen, 
which still preserved its order in a line parallel to the 
wood, but which had been obliged to hold its fire, from the 
fear of injuring friends as well as foes. The fugitives were 
directed to form a second line within the wmod itself, and 
under cover of the trees. This arrangement was not yet ’ 
completed, when Captain Lawton called to a youth, who' 
commanded the other troop left with that part of the force/ 
v/hich remained on the ground, and proposed charging theV< 
unbroken line of the British. The proposal was as promptly 


THK SI’V 


113 


/ 


accepted as it had been made, and the troops were arrayed 
for the purpose. The eagerness of their leader prevented 
the preparations necessary to ensure success, and the horse, 
receiving a destructive fire as they advanced, w^ere thrown 
into additional confusion. Both Lawton and his more 
juvenile comrade fell at this discharge. Fortunately for 
the credit of the Virginians, Major Dunwoodie re-entered 
the field at this critical instant; he saw his troops in dis- 
order; at his feet lay weltering in blood George Singleton, 
a youth endeared to him by numberless virtues, and Law- 
ton w'as unhorsed, and stretched on the plain. The eye 
of the youthful warrior flashed fire. Riding between this 
squadron and the enemy, in a voice that reached the hearts 
of his dragoons, he recalled them to their duty. His pres- 
ence and words acted like magic. The clamour of voices 
ceased; the line w^as formed promptly and with exactitude; 
the charge sounded; and, led on by their commander, the 
Virginians swept across the plain with an impetuosity that 
nothing could withstand, and the field was instantly cleared 
of the enemy: those who Avere not destroyed sought a 
shelter in the Avoods. Dunwoodie slowly withdrew from 
the fire of the English who were covered by the trees, and 
commenced the painful duty of collecting his dead and 
Avounded. 

The sergeant, charged with conducting Henry Wharton 
to a place Avhere he might procure surgical aid, set about 
performing his duty with alacrity, in order to return as 
soon as possible to the scene of strife. They had not 
reached the middle of the plain,* before the captain noticed 
a man whose appearance and occupation forcibly arrested 
his attention. His head was bald and bare, but a well- 
powdered Avig was to be seen, half-concealed, in the pocket 
of his breeches. His coat was off, and his arms were naked 
to the elbow; blood, had disfigured much of his dress, and 
his hands, and even face, bore this mark of his profession; 
in his mouth was a segar; in his right hand some instru- 
ments of strange formation, and in his left the remnants of 
an apple, with which he occasionally relieved the duty of 
the before-mentioned segar. He was standing, lost in the 


114 


THE SPY 


contemplation of a Hessian, who lay breathless before him. 
At a little distance were three or four of the guides, leaning- 
on their muskets, and straining their eyes in the direction 
of the combatants, and at his. elbow stood a man who. 
from the implements in his hand, and his bloody vest- 
ments, seemed an assistant. 

“There, sir, is the doctor,” said the attendant of Henry, 
very coolly; “he will patch up your arm in the twinkling of 
an eye;” and beckoning to the guides to approach, he 
whispered and pointed to his prisoner, and then galloped 
furiously towards his comrades. 

Wharton advanced to the side of this strange figure, and 
observing himself to be unnoticed, was about to request his 
assistance, when the other broke silence in a soliloquy — 

“Now, I know this man to have been killed by Captain 
Lawton, as well as if I had seen him strike the blow, Hov 
often have I strove to teach him the manner in which he 
can disable his adversary, without destroying life! It is 
cruel thus unnecessarily to cut off the human race, and 
furthermore, such blows as these render professional as- 
sistance unnecessary; it is in a measure treating the lights 
of science with disrespect.” 

“If, sir, your leisure will admit,” said Henry Wharton, 
“I must beg your attention to a slight hurt.” 

“Ah!” cried the other, starting, and examining him from 
head to foot, “you are from the field below; is there much 
business there, sir?” 

“Indeed,” answered Henry, accepting the offer of the 
surgeon to assist in removing his coat, “ Tis a stirring time, 
I can assure you.” 

“Stirring!” repeated the surgeon, busily employed with 
his dressings; “you give me great pleasure, sir; for so 
long as they can stir there must be life; and w'hile there is 
life, you know, there is hope;, but here my art is of no use. 
I did put in the brains of one patient, but I rather think 
the man must have been dead before I saw him. It is a 
curious case, sir; I will take you to see it — only across the 
fence there, where you may perceive so many bodies to- 
gether. Ah! the ball has glanced around the bone without 


THE SPY 


115 


shattering it; you are fortunate in falling into the hands 
of an old practitioner, or you might have lost this limb.” 

“Indeed!” said Henry, with a slight uneasiness; “I did 
not apprehend the injury to be so serious.” 

“Oh! the hurt is not bad, but you have such a pretty 
arm for an operation; the pleasure of the thing might have 
tempted a novice.” 

“The devil!” cried the Captain; “can there be any 
pleasure in mutilating a fellow-creature?” 

“Sir,” said the surgeon, with gravity, “a scientific ampu- 
tation is a very pretty operation, and doubtless might tempt 
a younger man, in the hurry of business, to overlook all the 
particulars of the case.” 

Further conversation was interrupted by the appearance 
of the dragoons, slowly marching towards their former 
halting-place, and new applications from the slightly 
wounded soldiers, who now came riding in, making hasty 
demands on the skill of the doctor. 

The guides took charge of Wharton, and, with a heavy 
heart, the young man retraced his steps to his father’s 
cottage. • 

The English had lost in the several charges about one- 
third of their foot, but the remainder were rallied in the 
wood; and Dunwoodie, perceiving them to be too strongly 
posted to assail, had left a strong party with Captain Law- 
ton, with orders to watch their motions, and to seize every 
opportunity to harass them before they re-embarked. 

' Intelligence had reached the Major of another party 
being out, by the way of the Hudson, and his duty required 
that he should hold himself in readiness to defeat the 
intentions of these also. Captain Lawton received his orders, 
with strong injunctions to make no assault on the foe, un- 
less a favourable chance should offer. The injury received 
by this officer was in the head, being stunned by a glancing 
bullet; and parting with a laughing declaration from the 
Major, that if he again forgot himself, they should all think 
him more materially hurt, each took his own course. 

The British were a light party without baggage, that had 
been sent out to destroy certain stores, understood to be 


'collecting for the use of the American army. ‘They now 
retired through the woods to the heights, and, keeping 
the route along their summits, in places unassailable by 
cavalry, commenced a retreat to their boats. 


CHAPTER VIII 


With ^re and sword the country round 
Was w^asted far and wide; 

And many a childing mother then, 

And new-born baby died; 

But things like these, you know, must be 
At every famous victory. 

Southey: The Battle of Blenheim. 

The last sounds of the combat died on the ears of the 
anxious listeners in the cottage, and were succeeded by 
the stillness of suspense. Frances had continued by her- 
self, striving to exclude the uproar, and vainly endeavouring 
to summon resolution to meet the dreaded result. The 
ground where the charge on the foot had taken place was 
but a short mile from the Locusts, and, in the intervals of 
the musketry, the cries of the soldiers had even reached the 
ears of its inhabitants. After witnessing the escape of his 
son, Mr. Wharton had joined his sistei\and eldest daughter 
in their retreat, and the three continued fearfully waiting 
for news from the field. Unable longer to remain under 
the painful uncertainty of her situation, Frances soon 
added herself to the uneasy group, and Caesar was directed 
to examine into the state of things without, and report on 
whose banners victory had alighted. The father now 
briefiy related to his astonished children the circumstance 
and manner of their brother’s escape. They were yet in 
the freshness of their surprise, when the door opened, and 
Captain Wharton, attended by a couple of the guides, and 
follow'ed by the black, stood before them. 

“Henry — my son, my son,” cried the agitated parent, 
stretching out his arms, yet unable to rise from his seat; 
“what is it I see? are you again a captive, and in danger 
of your life?” 

“The better fortune of these rebels has prevailed,” said 


117 


118 


THE SPY 


the youth, endeavouring to force a cheerful smile, and 
taking a hand of each of his distressed sisters. “I strove 
nobly for my liberty; but the perverse spirit of rebellion 
has even lighted on their horses. The steed I mounted 
carried me, greatly against my will, I acknowledge, into 
the very centre of Dunwoodie’s men.” 

“And you were again captured,” continued the father, 
casting a fearful glance on the armed attendants who had 
entered the room. 

“That, sir, you may safely say: this Mr. Lawton, who 
sees so far, had me in custody again immediately.” 

“Why you no hold ’em in, Massa Harry?” cried Caesar, 
pettishly. 

“That,” said Wharton, smiling, “was a thing easier said 
than done, Mr. Caesar, especially as these gentlemen” 
(glancing his eyes at the guides) “had seen proper to 
deprive me of the use of my better arm.” 

“Wounded!” exclaimed both sisters in a breath. 

“A mere scratch, but disabling me' at a most critical 
moment,” continued the brother, kindly, and stretching out 
the injured limb to manifest the truth of his declaration. 
Caesar threw a look of bitter animosity on the irregular 
warriors who were thought to have had an agency in the 
deed, and left the room. A few more words sufficed to 
explain all that Captain Wharton knew relative to the for- 
tune of the day. The result he thought yet doubtful, %f or 
when he left the ground, the Virginians were retiring from 
the field of battle. 

“They had tree’d the squirrel,” said one of the sentinels 
abruptly, “and di'-n’t quit the ground without leaving a 
good hound for the chase, when he comes down.” 

“Ay,” added his comrade, dryly, “I’m thinking Captain 
Lawton will count. the noses of what are left before they 
see their whale-boats.” 

Frances had stood supporting herself by the back of a 
chair, during this dialogue, catching in breathless anxiety 
every syllable as it was uttered; her colour changed 
rapidly; her limbs shook under her; until, with desperate 
resolution, she enquired — 


THE SPY 


119 


'Ts any officer hurt on — the— on either side?” 

•‘Yes,” answered the man, cavalierly, “these southern 
youths are so full of mettle, that it’s seldom we fight but 
one or two gets knocked over; one of the wounded, who 
came up before the troops, told me that Captain Singleton 
was killed, and Major Dunwoodie — ” 

Frances heard no more, but fell lifeless in the chair 
behind h^r. The attention of her friends soon revived her, 
when the Captain, turning to the man, said, fearfully — 
“Surely Major Dunw'oodie is unhurt?” 

“Never fear him,” added the guide, disregarding the 
agitation of the family; “they say -a man who is born to 
be hanged will never be drowned: if a bullet could kill the 
Major, he would have been dead long ago. I was going 
.to say, that the Major is in a sad taking because of the 
Captain’s being killed; but had I known how much store 
the lady set by him, I wouldn’t have been so plain-spoken.” 
^ Frances now rose quibkly from her seat, with cheeks 
glowing with confusion, and, leaning on her aunt, was about 
to retire, when Dunwoodie himself appeared. The first 
emotion of the agitated girl was unalloyed happiness; in 
the next instant she shrank back appalled from the unusual 
expression that reigned in his countenance. The sternness 
of battle yet sat on his brow; his eye was fixed and severe. 
The smile of affection that used to lighten his dark features 
on meeting his mistress, was supplanted by the lowering 
look of care ; his whole soul 'seemed to be absorbed in one 
engrossing emotion, and he proceeded at once to his object. 

“Mr. Wharton,” he earnestly began, “in times like these, 
we need not stand on idle ceremony: onb’ of my officers, I 
am afraid, is hurt mortally; and, presuming on your hospi- 
tality, I have brought him to your door.” ' 

“I am happy, sir, that you have done so, ’ said Mr. Whar- 
ton, at once perceiving the importance of conciliating the 
American troops; “the necessitous are always welcome, and 
doubly so, in being the friend of Major Dunwoodie.” 

“Sir, I thank you for myself, and in behalf of him who 
is unable to render you his thanks,” returned the other, 
hastily; “if you please, we will have him conducted where 


120 


THE SPY 


the surgeon may see and report upon his case, without 
delay.” To this there could be no objection; and Frances 
felt a chill at her heart, as her lover withdrew, without 
casting a solitary look on herself. 

There is a devotedness in female love that admits of no 
rivalry. All the tenderness of the heart, all the powers of 
the imagination, are enlisted in behalf of the tyrant pas- 
sion; and where all is given, much is looked for in return. 
Frances had spent hours of anguish, of torture, on account 
of Dunwoodie, and he now met her without a smile, and 
left her without a greeting. The ardour of her feelings was 
unabated, but the elasticity of her hopes was weakened. As 
the supporters of the nearly lifeless body of Dunwoodie’s 
friend passed her, in their way to the apartment prepared 
for his reception, she caught a view of this seeming rival. 

His pale and ghastly countenance, sunken eye, and diffi- 
cult breathing, gave her a glimpse of death in its most 
fearful form. Dunwoodie was by his side, and held his 
hand, giving frequent and stern injunctions to the men to 
proceed with care, and, in short, manifesting all the solici- 
tude that the most tender friendship could, on such an 
occasion, inspire. Frances moved lightly before them, and, 
with an averted face, she held open the door for their 
passage to the bed; it was only as the Major touched her 
garment's, on entering the room, that she ventured to raise 
her mild blue eyes to his face. But the glance was un- 
returned, and Frances unconsciously sighed as she souglft 
the solitude of her own apartment. 

Captain Wharton voluntarily gave a pledge to his keepers 
not to attempt again escaping, and then proceeded to exe- 
cute those duties, on behalf of his father, which were 
thought necessary in a host. On entering the passage for 
that purpose, he met the operator who had so dexterously 
dressed his arm, advancing to the room of the wounded 
officer. 

“Ah!” cried the disciple of Esculapius, “I see you are 
doing well; but stop; have you a pin? No! here, I have 
one; you must keep the cold air from your hurt, or some 
of the youngsters will be at work at you yet.” 


THE SPY 


121 


“God forbid,” muttered the Captain, in an under-tone, 
attentively adjusting the bandages; when Dunwoodie ap- 
peared at the door, impatiently crying aloud — 

“Hasten, Sitgreaves, hasten; or George Singleton will die 
from loss of blood.” 

“What! Singleton! God forbid! Bless me — is it George — 
poor little George?” exclaimed the surgeon, as he quickened 
his pace with evident concern, and hastened to the side of 
the bed; “he is alive, though, and while there is life there 
is hope. This is the first serious case I have had to-day, 
where the patient was not already dead. Captain Lawton 
teaches his men to strike with so little discretion — poor 
George — bless me, it is a musket bullet.” 

The youthful sufferer turned his eyes on the man of 
science;- and with a faint smile endeavoured to stretch forth 
his hand. There was an appeal in the look and 'action that 
touched the heart of the operator. The surgeon removed 
his spectacles to wipe an unusual moisture from his eyes, 
and proceeded carefully to the discharge of his duty. While 
the previous arrangements were, however, making, he gave 
vent in some measure to his feelings, by saying — 

“When it is only a bullet, I have always some hopes; 
there is a chance that it hits nothing vital; but, bless me. 
Captain Lawton’s men cut so at random — generally sever 
the jugular or the carotid artery, or let out the brains, and 
all are so difficult to remedy — the patient mostly dying be- 
fore one can get at him. I never had success but once in 
replacing a man’s brains, although I have tried three this 
very day. It is easy to tell where Lawton’s troop charge 
in a battle, they cut so at random.” 

The group around the bed of Captain Singleton were too 
much accustomed to the manner of their surgeon to regard 
or to reply to his soliloquy; but they quietly awaited the 
moment when he was to commence his examination. This 
now took place, and Dunwoodie stood looking the operator 
in the face, with an expression that seemed to read his soul. 
The patient shrunk from the application of the probe, 
and a smile stole over the features of the surgeon, as he 
muttered — 


122 


THE ISPY 


“‘There has been nothing before it in that quarter.” He 
now applied himself in earnest to his work, took off his 
spectacles, and threw aside his wig. All this time Dun- 
woodie stood in feverish silence, holding one of the hands 
of the sufferer in both his own, watching the countenance 
of Dr. Sitgreaves. At length Singleton gave a slight groan, 
and the surgeon rose with alacrity, and said aloud — 

“Ah! there is some pleasure in following a bullet; it 
may be said to meander through the human body, injuring 
nothing vital ; but as for Captain Lawton’s men — ” 

“Speak,” interrupted Dunwoodie; '“is there hope — can 
you find the ball?” 

“It’s no difficult matter to find that which one has in his 
hand. Major Dunwoodie,” replied the surgeon, coolly, pre- 
paring his dressings; “it took what that literal fellow. 
Captain Lawton, calls a circumbendibus, a route never 
taken by the swords of his men, notwithstanding the multi- 
plied pains I have been at to teach him how to cut 
scientifically. Now, 1 saw a horse this day with his head 
half severed from his body.” 

“That,” said Dunwoodie, as the blood rushed to his 
cheeks again, and his dark eyes sparkled with the rays of 
hope, “was some of my handiwork; I killed that horse 
myself.” 

“You!” exclaimed the surgeon, dropping his dressing in 
surprise, “you! but you knew it was a horse!” 

“I had such suspicions, I own,” said the Major, smiling, 
and holding a beverage to the lips of his friend. 

“Such blows alighting on the human frame are fatal,” 
continued the Doctor, pursuing his business; “they set at 
nought the benefits which flow from the lights of science; 
they are useless in a battle, for disabling your foe is all 
that is required. I have sat. Major Dunwoodie, many a 
cold hour, while Captain Lawton has been engaged, and 
after all my expectation, not a single case worth recording 
has occurred — all scratches or death-wounds; ah! the sabre 
is a sad weapon in unskilful hands! Yes, Major Dunwoodie, 
many are the hours I have, thrown away in endeavouring to 
impress this truth on Captain .Tohn Lawton.” 


- THE SPY 


ll>3 

The impatient Major pointed silently to his friend, and 
the surgeon quickened his movements. 

“Ah! poor George, it is a narrow chance; but — ” he was 
interrupted by a messenger requiring the presence of the 
commanding officer in the field. Dunwoodie pressed the 
hand of his friend, and beckoned the Doctor to follow him, 
as he withdrew. 

“What think you?” he whispered, on reaching the pas- 
sage; “will he live?” 

“He will.” 

“Thank God!” cried the youth, hastening below. 

Dunwoodie for a moment joined the family, who were 
now collecting in the ordinary parlour. His face was no 
longer wanting in smiles, and his salutations, though hasty, 
were cordial. He took no notice of the escape and recap- 
ture of Henry Wharton, but seemed to think the young- 
man had continued where he had left him before the 
encounter. On the ground they had not met. The English 
officer withdrew in haughty silence to a window, leaving 
the Major uninterrupted to make his communications. 

The excitement produced by the events of the day in the 
youthful feelings of the sisters, had been succeeded by a 
languor that kept them both silent, and Dunwoodie held 
his discourse with Miss Peyton. 

“Is there any hope, my cousin, that your friend can sur- 
vive his wound?” said the lady, advancing towards her 
kinsman, with a smile of benevolent regard. 

“Every thing, my dear madam, every thing,” answered 
the soldier cheerfully. “Sitgreaves says he will live, and 
he has never deceived me.” 

“Your pleasure is not much greater than my own at this 
intelligence. One so dear to Major Dunwoodie cannot fail 
to excite an interest in the bosom of his friends.” 

“Say one so deservedly dear, madam,” returned the 
Major, with warmth: “he is the beneficent spirit of the 
corps, equally beloved by us all; so mild, so equal, so just, 
so generous, with the meekness of a lamb and the fondness 
of a dove — it is only in the hour of battle that Singleton 
is a lion.” 


124 


THE SPY 


“You speak of him as if he were your mistress, Major 
Dunwoodie,” observed the smiling spinster, glancing her 
eye at her niece, who sat pale and listening, in a corner of 
the room. 

“I love him as one,” cried the excited youth; “but he 
requires care and nursing; all now depends on the atten- 
tion he receives.” 

“Trust me, sir, he will want for nothing under this roof.” 

“Pardon me, dear madam; you are all that is benevolent, 
but Singleton requires a care which many men would feel 
to be irksome. It is at moments like these, and in suffer- 
ings like this, that the soldier most finds the want of 
female tenderness.” As he spoke, he turned his oyes on 
Frances with an expression that again thrilled to the heart 
of his mistress: she rose from her seat with burning 
cheeks, and said — 

“All the attention that can with propriety be given to a 
stranger, will be cheerfully bestowed on your friend.” 

“Ah!” cried the Major, shaking his head, “that cold word 
propriety will kill him; he must be fostered, cherished, 
soothed.” 

“These are offices for a sister or a wife.” 

“A sister!” repeated the soldier, the blood rushing to his 
own face tumultuously; “a sister! he has a sister; and 
one that might be here with to-morrow’s sun.” He paused, 
mused in silence, glanced his eyes uneasily at F^rances, and 
muttered in an undertone — “Singleton requires it, and it 
must be done.” 

The ladies had watched his varying countenance in some 
surprise, and Miss Peyton now observed that — 

“If there were a sister of Captain Singleton near them, 
her presence would be gladly requested both by herself and 
nieces.” 

“It must be, madam; it cannot well be otherwise,” re- 
plied Dunwoodie, with a hesitation that but ill agreed with 
, his former declarations; “she shall be sent for express this 
very night.” And then, as if willing to change the subject, 
he approached Captain Wharton, and continued, mildly — 

“Henry Wharton, to me hoi ur is dearer than life; but 


THE SPY 


125 


ill your hands I know it can safely be confided; remain 
here unwatched, until we leave the county, which will not 
be for some days.” 

The distance in the manner of the English officer van- 
ished, and taking the offered hand of the other, he replied 
with warmth — “Your generous confidence, Peyton, will not 
be abused, even though the gibbet on which your Washing- 
ton hung Andre be ready for my own execution.” 

“Henry, Henry Wharton,” said Dunwoodie reproachfully, 
“you little know the man who leads our armies, or you 
would have spared him that reproach; but duty calls me 
without. I leave you where I could wish to stay myself, 
and where you cannot be wholly unhappy.” 

In passing Frances, she received another of those smiling 
looks of affection she so much prized, and for a season the 
impression made by his appearance after the battle was 
forgotten. 

Among the veterans that had been impelled by the times 
to abandon the quiet of age for the service of their country, 
was Colonel Singleton. He was a native of Georgia and 
had been for the earlier years of his life a soldier by profes- 
sion. When the struggle for liberty commenced, he offered 
his services to his country, and from respect to his charac- 
ter they had been accepted. His years and health had, 
however, prevented his discharging the active duties of the 
field, and he had been kept in command of different posts 
of trust, where his country might receive the benefits of 
his vigilance and fidelity without inconvenience to himself. 
For the last year he had bee'n intrusted with the passes 
into the Highlands, and was now quartered, with his 
daughter, but a short day’s march above the valley where 
Dunwoodie had met the enemy. His only other child was 
the wounded officer we have mentioned. Thither, then, the 
Major prepared to despatch a messenger with the unhappy 
news of the Captain’s situation, and charged with such an 
invitation from the ladies as he did not doubt would 
speedily bring the sister to the couch of her brother. 

This duty performed, though with an unwillingness that 
only could make his forme9^ anxiety more perplexing. Dun- 


126 


THE SPY 


woodie proceeded to the field where his troops had halted. 
The remnant of the English were already to be seen, over 
the tops of the trees, marching along the heights towards 
their boats, in compact order and with great watchfulness. 
The detachment of the dragoons under Lawton were a short 
distance on their fiank, eagerly awaiting a favourable mo- 
ment to strike a blow. In this manner both parties were 
soon lost to view. 

A short distance above the Locusts was a small hamlet, 
where several roads intersected each other, and from which, 
consequently, access to the surrounding country was easy. 
It was a favourite halting-place of the horse, and frequently 
held by the light parties of the American army during their 
excursions below. Dunwoodie had been the first to dis- 
cover its advantages, and as it was necessary for him to 
remain in the county until further orders from above, it 
cannot be supposed he overlooked them now. To this place 
the troops were directed to retire, carrying with them their 
wounded; parties were already employed in the sad duty 
of interring the dead. ^In making these arrangements, a 
new object of embarrassment presented itself to our young 
soldier. In moving through the field, he was struck with 
the appearance of Colonel Wellmere, seated by himself, 
brooding over his misfortunes, uninterrupted by any thing 
but the passing civilities of the American ofiicers. His 
anxiety on behalf of Singleton had hitherto banished the 
recollection of his captive from the mind of Dunwoodie, 
and he now approached him with apologies for his neglect. 
The Englishman received his courtesies with coolness, and 
complained of being injured by what he affected to think 
was' the accidental stumbling of his horse. Dunwoodie. 
who had seen one of his own men ride him down, and that 
with very little ceremony, slightly smiled, as he offered him 
surgical assistance. This could only be procured at the 
cottage, and thither they both proceeded. 

•‘Colonel Wellmere!” cried young Wharton in astonish- 
ment as they entered, “has the fortune of war been thus 
cruel to yoiy also? — but you are welcome to the house of 


THE SPY 


127 


my father, although I could wish the introduction to have 
taken place under more happy circumstances.” 

Mr. Wharton received this new guest with the guarded 
caution that distinguished his manner, and Dunwoodie left 
the room to seek the bedside of his friend. Every thing 
here looked propitious, and he acquainted the surgeon that 
another patient waited his skill in the room below. The 
sound of the word was enough to set the doctor in motion, 
and seizing his implements of office, he went* in quest of 
this new applicant. At the door of the parlour he was met 
by the ladies, who were retiring. Miss Peyton detained 
him for a moment, to enquire into the welfare of Captain 
Singleton. Frances smiled with something of her natural 
archness of manner, as she contemplated the grotesque 
appearance of the bald-headed practitioner; but Sarah w'as 
too much agitated with the surprise of the unexpected 
interview with the British Colonel, to observe him. It has 
already been intimated that Colonel Wellmere was an old 
acquaintance of the family. Sarah had been so long absent 
from the city, that she had in some measure been banished 
from the remembrance of the gentleman; but the recollec- 
tions of Sarah were more vivid. There is a period in the 
life of every woman when she may be said to be predis- 
posed to love; it is at the happy age when infancy is lost 
in opening maturity — when the guileless heart beats with 
those anticipations of life which the truth can never real- 
ise — and when the imagination forms images of perfection 
that are copied after its own unsullied visions. At this 
happy age Sarah left the city, and she had brought with 
her a picture of futurity, faintly impressed, it is true, but 
which gained durability from her splitude, and in which 
Wellmere had been placed in the foreground. The surprise 
of the meeting had in som.e measure overpowered* her, and 
after receiving tjie salutations of the colonel, she had risen, 
in compliance with a signal from her observant aunt, to 
withdraw. / 

“Then, sir,” observed Miss Peyton, after listening to the 
surgeon’s account of his young patient, “we may be flattered 
with the expectation that he will recover.” 


128 


THE SPY 


( 


“ ’Tis certain, madam,” returned the doctor, endeavour- 
ing, out of respect to the ladies, to replace his wig; “ ’tis 
certain, with care and good nursing.” j 

“In those he shall not be wanting,” said the spinster, 
mildly. “Every thing we have he can command, and Major ; 
Dunwoodie has despatched an express for his sister.” ! 

“His sister!” echoed the practitioner, with a look of par- 
ticular meaning; “if the Major has sent for her, she will I 
come.” . ' 

“Her brother’s danger would induce her, one would ■ 
imagine.” 

“No doubt, madam,” continued the doctor, laconically, 
bowing low, and giving room to the ladies to pass. The 
words and the manner were not lost on the younger sister, i 
in whose presence the name of Dunwoodie was never 
mentioned unheeded. 

“Sir,” cried Dr. Sitgreaves, on entering the parlour, 
addressing himself to the only coat of scarlet in the room, 

T am advised you are in want of my aid. God send ’tis j 
not Captain Lhwton with whom you came in contact, in i 
which case I may be too late.” 

“There must be some mistake, sir,” said Wellmere, 
naughtily; “it was a surgeon that Major Dunwoodie was 
to send me, and not an old woman.” 

- “ ’Tis Dr. Sitgreaves,” said Henry Wharton, quickly, 

though with difficulty suppressing a laugh; “the multitude 
of his engagements, to-day, has prevented his usual atten- 
tion to his attire.” 

“Your pardon, sir,” added Wellmere, very ungraciously 
proceeding to lay aside his coat, and exhibit what he called 
a wounded arm. 

“If, sir,” said the surgeon, dryly, “the degrees of Edin- 
burgh — walking your London hospitals — amputating some 
hundreds of limbs — operating on the human frame in every 
shape that is warranted by the lights of science, a clear ’ 
conscience, and the commission of the Continental Con- 
gress, can make a surgeon, I am one.” 

“Your pardon, sir,” repeated the Colonel, stiffiy. “Captain 
'.Vharton has accounted for my error.” 


THE SPY 


129 


“For which 1 thank Captain Wharton,” said the surgeon, 
proceeding coolly to arrange his amputating instruments, 
with a formality that made the Colonel’s blood, run cold. 
“Where are you hurt, sir? What! is it then this scratch 
in your shoulder? In w’hat manner might you have 
received this wound, sir?” 

“From the sword of a rebel dragoon,” said the Colonel, 
with emphasis. 

“Never. Even the gentle George Singleton would not 
have breathed on you so harmlessly.” He took a piece of 
sticking-plaster from his pocket, and applied it to the part. 
“There, sir; 'that will answer your purpose, and I am cer- 
tain it is all that is required of me.” 

“What do you take to be my purpose, then, sir?” 

“To report yourself wounded in your despatches,” replied 
the doctor, with great steadiness; “and you may say that 
an old woman dressed your hurts — for if one did not, one 
easily might!” 

“Very extraordinary language,” muttered the English- 
man. 

Here Captain W’harton interfered; and, by explaining the 
mistake of Colonel Wellmere to proceed from his irritated 
mind and pain of body, he in part succeeded in mollifying 
the insulted practitioner, who consented to look further 
into the hurts of the other. They were chiefly bruises 
from his fall, to which Sitgreaves made some hasty applica- 
tions, and withdrew. 

The horse, having taken their required refreshment, 
prepared to fall back to their intended position, and it 
became incumbent on Dunwoodie to arrange the disposal 
of his prisoners. Sitgreaves he determined to leave in the 
cottage of Mr. Wharton, in attendance on Captain Single- 
ton. Henry came to him with a request that Colonel 
Wellmere might also be left behind, under his parole, until 
the troops marched higher into the country. To this the 
Major cheerfully assented; and as all the rest of the prison- 
ers were of the vulgar herd, they were speedily collected, 
and, under the care of a strong guard, ordered to the 
interior. The dragoons soon after marched; and the guides. 


130 


THE SPY 


separating in small parties, accompanied by patroles from | 
the horse, spread themselves across the country, in such a | 
manner as to make a chain of sentinels from the waters • 
of the Sound to those of the Hudson.* ^ 

Dunwoodie had lingered in front of the cottage, after he i 
paid his parting compliments, with an unwillingness to “ 
return, that he thought proceeded from his solicitude for '• 
his wounded friends. The heart which has not become j 
callous, soon sickens with the glory that has been pur- 1 
chased with a waste of human life. Peyton Dunwoodie, 
left to himself, and no longer excited by the visions which 
youthful ardour had kept before him throughout the da 3 ^ j 
began to feel there were other ties than those which bound j 
the soldier within the rigid rules of honour. He did not | 
waver in his duty, yet he felt how strong was the tempta- 
tion. His blood had ceased to flow with the impulse created 
by the battle. The stern expression of his eye gradually 
gave place to a look of softness; and his reflections on the 
victory brought with them no satisfaction that compen- 
sated for the sacrifices by which it had been purchased. 
While turning his last lingering gaze on the Locusts, he 
remembered only that it contained all that he most valued. 
The friend of his youth was a prisoner, under circum- 
stances that endangered both life and honour. The gentle 
companion of his toils, who could throw around the rude 
enjoyments of a soldier the graceful mildness of peace, lay 
a bleeding victim to his success. The image of the maid 
who had held, during the day, a disputed sovereignty in 
his bosom, again rose to his view with a loveliness that 
banished her rival, glory, from his mind. 

The last lagging trooper of the corps had already disap- ■ 
peared behind the northern hill, and the Major unwillingly ^ 
turned his horse in the same direction. Prances, impelled 
by a restless inquietude, now timidly ventured on the piazza ^ 
of the cottage. The day had been mild and clear, and the" | 
sun was shining brightly in a cloudless sky. The tumult, S 
which so lately disturbed the valley, was succeeded by the | 

♦The scene of this tale is between these two waters, which are i 
but a few miles from each other. 


THE SPY 


131 


stillness of death, and the fair scene before her looked as 
if it had never been marred by the passions of men. One 
solitary cloud, the collected smoke of the contest, hung 
over the field; and this was gradually dispersing, leaving 
no vestige of the conflict above the peaceful graves of its 
victims. All the conflicting feelings, all the tumultuous 
circumstances of the eventful day, appeared like the decep- 
tions of a troubled vision. Frances turned, and caught a 
'' glimpse of the retreating figure of him who had been so 
conspicuous an actor in the scene, and the illusion vanished. 
She recognised her lover, and, with the truth, came other 
recollections that drove her to the room, with a heart as 
sad as that which Dunwoodie himself bore from the valley. 


CHAPTER IX 


A moment gazed, adown the dale, 

A moment snuff M the tainted gale, 

A moment listen'd to the cry. 

That thicken'd as the chase drew nigh. 

Then, as the headmost foe appear'd 
With one brave bound the copse he clear'd. 

And, stretching , forward free and far. 

Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. 

Walter Scott. 

The party under Captain Lawton had w^atched the retir- 
ing foe at his boats with the most unremitting vigilance, 
without finding any fit opening for a charge. The expe- 
rienced successor of Colonel Wellmere knew too well the 
power of his enemy to leave the uneven surface of the 
heights, until compelled to descend to the level of the 
water. Before he attempted this hazardous movement, he 
threw his men into a compact square, with its outer edges 
bristling with bayonets. In this position, the impatient 
trooper well understood that brave men could never be 
assailed by cavalry with success, and lie was reluctantly 
obliged to hover near them, without seeing any opportunity 
of stopping their slow but steady march to the beach. A 
small schooner, which Iiad been their convoy from the city, 
lay with her guns bearing on the place of embarkation. 
Against this combination of force and discipline, Lawton 
had sufficient prudence to see it would be folly to contend, 
and the English were suffered to embark without molesta- 
tion. The dragoons lingered on the shore till the last 
moment, and then they reluctantly commenced their own 
retreat back to the main body of the corps. 

The gathering mists of the evening had begun to darken 
the valley, as the detachment of Lawton made its re- 
appearance, at its southern extremity. The manch of the 
troops was slow, and their line extended, for the benefit 


132 


THE SPr 


133 


of ease. In the front rode the Captain, side by side with 
his senior subaltern, apparently engaged in close confer- 
ence, while the rear was brought up by a young cornet, 
humming an air, and thinking of the sweets of a straw bed 
after the fatigues of a hard day’s duty. 

“Then it struck you too?” said the Captain. “The instant 
I placed my eyes on her, I remembered the face; it is one 
not easily forgotten. By my faith, Tom, the girl does no 
discredit to the Major’s taste.” 

“She would do honour to the corps,” replied the Lieu- 
tenant, with some warmth; “those blue eyes might easily 
win a man to gentler employments than this trade of ours. 
In sober truth, I can easily imagine, such a girl might 
tempt even me to quit the broadsword and saddle, for a 
darning-needle and pillion.” 

“Mutiny, sir, mutiny,” cried the other, laughing-; “what, 
you, Tom Mason, dare to rival the gay, admired, and withal 
rich. Major Dunwoodie in his love! You, a lieutenant ot 
cavalry, with but one horse, and he none of the best! whose 
captain is as tough as a peperage log, and has as many lives 
as a cat.” 

“Faith,” said the subaltern, smiling in his turn, “the log 
may yet be split, and Grimalkin lose his lives, if you often 
charge as madly as you did this morning. What think you 
of many raps from such a beetle as laid you on your back 
to-day?” 

“Ah! don’t mention it, my good Tom; the thought makes 
my head ache,” replied the other, shrugging up his shoul- 
ders; “it is what I call forestalling night.” 

“The, night of death?” 

“No, sir, the night that follows day. I saw myriads of 
stars, things which should hide their faces in the presence 
of the lordly sun. I do think nothing but this thick cap 
saved me for your comfort a little longer, maugre the cat’s 
lives.” 

“I have much reason to be obliged to the cap,” said 
Mason, dryly; “that or the skull must have had a reason- 
able portion of thickness, I admit.” 

“Come, come, Tom, you are a licensed joker, so I’ll 


134 


THE SPY 


not feign anger with you,” returned the Captain, good- ^ 
humouredly; “but Singleton’s lieutenant, I am fearful, will j 
fare better than yourself for this day’s service.” j 

“I believe both of us will be spared the pain of receiv- ! 
ing promotion purchased by the death of a comrade and i 
friend,” observed Mason, kindly; “it was reported that | 
Sitgreaves said he would live.” 

“From my soul. I hope so,” exclaimed Lawton: “for a 
beardless face, that boy carries the stoutest heart I have 
ever met with. It surprises me, however, that, as we both 
fell at the same instant, the men behaved so well.” 

“For the compliment, I might thank you,” cried the 
Lieutenant with a laugh; “but modesty forbids; I did my 
best to stop them, but without success.” 

“Stop them!” roared the Captain; “would you stop men j 
in the middle of a charge?” i 

“I thought they were going the' wrong way,” answered j 
the subaltern. ' ’ 

“Ah! our fall drove them to the right about?” j 

“It was either your fall, or apprehensions of their own; j 
until the Major rallied us, we were in admirable disorder.” 

“Dunwoodie! the Major was on the crupper of the i 
Dutchman.” 

“Ah! but he managed to get off the crupper of the 
Dutchman. He came in, at half-speed, with the other two 
troops, and riding between us and the enemy, with that 
imperative way he has when roused, brought us in line in j 
the twinkling of an eye. Then it was,” added the Lieu- j 
tenant, with animation, “that we sent John Bull to the ^ 
bushes. Oh! it was a sweet charge — heads and tails, until 
we were upon them.’*’ 

“The devil! What a sight I missed!” 

“You slept through it all.” 

“Yes,” returned the other, with a sigh; “it was all lost 
to me and poor George Singleton. But, Tom, what will 
George’s sister say to this fair-haired maiden, in yonder 
white building?” 

“Hang herself in her garters,” said the subaltern. “I owe 
a proper respect to my superiors, but two such angels are 


THE SPY 


135 


more than justly falls to the share of one man, unless he be 
a Turk or a Hindoo.” 

‘‘Yes, yes,” said the Captain, quickly, “the Major is ever 
preaching morality to the youngsters, but he is a sly fellow 
in the main. Do you observe how fond he is of the cross 
roads above this valley? Now, if I were to halt the troops 
twice in the same place, you would all swear there was a 
petticoat in the wind.” 

“You are well known to the corjjs.” 

“Well, Tom, a slanderous propensity is incurable — but,” 
stretching forward his body in the direction he was gazing, 
as if to aid him in distinguishing objects through the dark- 
ness, “what animal is moving through the field on our 
right?” 

“ ’Tis a man,” said Mason, looking intently at the suspi- 
cious object. 

“By his hump ’tis a dromedary!” added the Captain, 
eyeing it keenly. Wheeling his horse suddenly from the 
highway, he exclaimed — “Harvey Birch! — take him, dead 
or alive!” 

Mason and a few of the leading dragoons only under- 
stood the sudden cry, but it was heard throughout, the line, 
A dozen of the men, with the Lieutenant at their heacj, 
followed the impetuous Lawton, and their speed threatened, 
the pursued with a sudden termination of the race. 

Birch prudently kept his position on the rock, where he 
had been seen by the passing glance of Henry Wharton, 
until evening had begun to shroud the surrounding objects 
in darkness. Prom this height he had seen all the events 
of the day as they occurred. He had watched, with a beat- 
ing heart, the departure of the troops under Dunwoodie, 
and with difficulty had curbed his impatience until the 
obscurity of night should render his moving free from 
danger. He had not, however, completed a fourth of his 
way to his own residence, when his quick ear distinguished 
ihe tread of the approaching horse. Trusting to the in- 
creasing darkness, he determined to persevere. By crouching 
and moving quickly along the surface of the ground, he 
hoped yet to escape unseen. Captain Lawton was too much 


136 


THE SPY 


engrossed with the foregoing conversation to suffer his ! 
eyes to indulge in their usual wandering; and the pedler, 
perceiving by the voices that the enemy he most feared 
had passed, yielded to his impatience, and stood erect, in 
order to make greater progress. The moment his body 
arose above the shadow of the ground, it was seen and the 
chase commenced. For a single instant, Birch was help- 
less, his blood curdling in his veins at the imminence of the 
danger, and his legs refusing their natural and necessary 
office. But it was only for a moment. Casting his pack 
where he stood, and instinctively tightening the belt he 
wore, the pedler betook himself to flight. He knew that 
by bringing himself in a line with his pursuers and the 
wood, his form would be lost to sight. This he soon effected, 
and he was straining every nerve to gain the wood itself, 
when several horsemen rode by him but a short distance 
on his left, and cut him off from this place of refuge. The 
pedler threw himself on the ground as they came near him, 
and was passed unseen. But delay, now, became too dan- ; 
gerous for him to remain in that position. He accordingly . 
arose, and still keeping in the shadow of the wood, along ' 
the skirts of which he heard voices crying to each other to i 
be watchful, he ran with incredible speed in a parallel line, ; 
but in an opposite direction, to the march of the dragoons. 

The confusion of the chase had been heard by the whole ; 
of the men, though none distinctly understood the order 
of Lawton but those who followed. The remainder were ; 
lost in doubt as to the duty that was required of them; 
and the aforesaid cornet was making eager enquiries of the 
trooper near him on the subject, when a man, at a short ! 
distance in his rear, crossed the road at a single bound. 
At the same instant, the stentorian voice of Lawton rang : 
through the valley, shouting — 

“Harvey Birch — take him, dead or alive!” ! 

Fifty pistols lighted the scene, and the bullets whistled ; 
in every direction round the head of the devoted pedler. ; 
A feeling of despair seized his. heart, and in the bitterness ; 
of that moment he exclaimed — 

“Hunted like a beast of the forest!” 


THE SPY 


137 


He felt life and its accompaniments to be a burden, and 
was about to yield himself to his enemies. Nature, how- 
ever, prevailed. If taken, there was great reason to appre- 
hend that he would not be honoured with the forms of 
a trial, but that most probably the morning sun would 
witness his ignominious execution; • for he had already 
been condemned to death, and had only escaped that fate 
by stratagem. These considerations, with the approaching 
footsteps of his pursuers, roused him to new exertions. 
He again fled before them. A fragment of a wall, that had 
withstood the ravages made by war in the adjoining fences 
of wood, fortunately crossed his path. He hardly had time 
to throw his exhausted limbs over this barrier, before twenty 
of his enemies reached its opposite side. Their horses 
refused to take the leap in the dark, and amid the con- 
fusion of the rearing chargers, and the execrations of their ' 
riders, Birch was enabled to gain a sight of the base of 
the hill, on whose summit was a place of perfect security. 
The heart of the pedler now beat high with hope, when the 
voice of Captain Lawton again rang in his ears, shouting 
to his men to make room. The order was obeyed, and the 
fearless trooper rode at the wall at the top of his horse’s 
speed, plunged the rowels in his charger, and flew over the 
obstacle in safety. The triumphant hurrahs of the men, 
and the thundering tread of the horse, too plainly assured 
the pedler of the emergency of his danger. He was nearly 
exhausted, and his fate no longer seeme’d doubtful. 

“Stop, or die!” was uttered above his head, and in fearful 
proximity to his ears. 

Harvey stole a glance over his shoulder, and saw, within 
a bound of him, the man he most dreaded. By the light of 
the stars he beheld the uplifted arm and the threatening 
sabre. Fear, exhaustion, and despair, seized his heart, and 
the intended victim fell at the feet of the dragoon. The 
horse of Lawton struck the prostrate pedler, and both steed 
and rider came violently to the earth. 

As quick as thought, Birch was on his feet again, with 
the sword of the discomfited dragoon in his hand. Ven- 
geance seems but too natural to human passions. There 


138 


THE SPY 


are few who have not felt the seductive pleasure of'making 
our injuries recoil on their authors; and yet there are some 
who know how much sweeter it is to return good for evik 

All the wrongs of the pedler shone on his brain with a 
dazzling brightness. For a moment the demon within Kim 
' prevailed, and Birch brandished the powerful weapon in 
the air; in the next, it fell harmless on the reviving but 
helpless trooper. The pedler vanished up the side of the 
friendly rock. 

“Help Captain Lawton, there!” cried Mason, as he rode 
up, followed by a dozen of his men; “and some of you dis- 
mount with me, and search these rocks; the villain Ties 
here concealed.” 

“Hold!” roared the discomfited Captain, raising himself 
with difficulty on his feet; “if one of you dismount, he 
dies. Tom, my good fellow, you will help me to straddle 
Roanoke again.” 

The astonished subaltern complied in silence, while the 
wondering dragoons remained as fixed in their saddles, as 
if they composed part of the animals they rode. 

“You are much hurt, I fear,” said Mason, with some- 
thing of condolence in his manner, as they re-entered the 
highway, and biting off the end of a segar for the want of 
a better quality of tobacco. 

“Something so, I do believe,” replied the Captain, catching 
his breath, and speaking with difficulty; “I wish our bone- 
setter was at hand, to examine into the state of my ribs.” 
“Sitgreaves is left in attendance on Captain Singleton, at 
the house of Mr. Wharton.” 

“Then there I halt for the night, Tom. These rude times 
must abridge ceremony; besides, you may remember the old 
gentleman professed a kinsman’s regard for the corps. I 
can never think of passing so ^ood a friend without a halt.” 

“And I will lead the troop to the Four Corners; if we all 
halt there, we shall breed a famine in the land.” 

“A condition I never desire to be placed in. The idea 
of that graceful spinster’s cakes is no bad solace for 
twenty-four hours in the hospital.” 

“Oh! you won’t die if you can tnink of eating,” said 
Mason, with a laugh. 


THE SPY 


139 


“I should surely die if I could not,” observed the Captain, 
gravely. 

“Captain Lawton,” said the orderly of his troop, riding 
to the side of his commanding officer, “we are now passing 
the house of the pedler spy; is it your pleasure that we 
burn it?” 

“No!” roared the Captain, in a voice that startled the 
disappointed sergeant; “are you an incendiary? would you 
burn a house in cold blood? let but a spark approach, and 
the hand that carries it will never light another.” 

“Zounds!” muttered the sleepy cornet in the rear, as he 
was nodding on his horse, “there is life in the Captain, 
notwithstanding his tumble.” 

Lawton and Mason rode on in silence, the latter rumi- 
nating on the wonderful change produced in his commander 
by his fall, when they arrived opposite to the gate before 
the residence of Mr. Wharton. The troop continued its 
march; but the Captain and his Lieutenant dismounted, 
and. followed by the servant of the former, they proceeded 
slowly to the door of the cottage. 

Colonel Wellmere had already sought a retreat in his 
own room; Mr. Wharton and his son were closeted by them- 
selves; and the ladies were administering the refreshments 
of .the tea-table to the surgeon of the dragoons, who had 
seen one of his patients in his bed, and the other happily 
enjoying the comforts of a sweet sleep. A few natural 
enquiries from Miss Peyton had opened the soul of the 
doctor, who knew every individual of her extensive family 
connection in Virginia, and who even thought it possible 
that he had seen the lady herself. The amiable spinster 
smiled as she felt it to be improbable that she should ever 
have met her new acquaintance before, and not remember 
his singularities. It, however, greatly relieved the embar- 
ra.ssment of their situation, and something like a discourse 
was maintained between them; the nieces were only listen- 
ers, nor could the aunt be said to be much more. 

“As I was observing. Miss Peyton, it was merely the 
noxious vapours of the low lands that rendered the plan- 


140 


THE SPY 


tacion of your brother an unfit residence for man; but 
Quadrupeds were — ” 

“Bless mey what’s that?” said Miss Peyton, turning pale 
'it the report of the pistols fired at Birch, 

“It sound prodigiously like the concussion on the atmos- 
phere made by the explosion of fire-arms,” said the surgeon, 
sipping his tea with great indifference. “I should imagine 
it to be the troop of Captain Lawton returning, did I not 
know the Captain never uses the pistol, and that he dread- 
fully abuses the sabre.” 

“Merciful providence!” exclaimed the agitated maiden, 
“he would not injure one with it certainly.” 

“Injure!” repeated the other quickly: “it is certain death, 
madam; the most random blows imaginable; all that I can 
say to him will have no effect.” 

“But Captain Lawton is the officer we saw this morning, 
and is surely your friend,” said Frances, hastily, observing 
her aunt to be seriously alarmed. 

“I find no fault with his want of friendship; the man is 
well-enough if he would learn to cut scientifically. All 
trades, madam, ought to be allowed to live; but what is to 
become of a surgeon, if his patients are dead before he sees 
them!” 

The doctor continued haranguing on the probability and 
improbability of its being the returning troop, until a loud 
knock at the door gave new alarm to the ladies. Instinc- 
tively laying his hand on a small saw, that had been his 
companion for the whole day, in the vain expectation of an 
amputation, the surgeon, coolly assuring the ladies that he 
would stand between them and danger, proceeded in person 
to answer to the summons. 

“Captain Lawton!” exclaimed the surgeon, as he beheld 
the trooper leaning on the arm of his subaltern, and with 
difficulty crossing the threshold. 

“Ah! my dear bone-setter, is it you? You are here very 
fortunately to inspect my carcass: but do lay aside that 
rascally saw!” 

A few words from Mason explained the nature and man- 
ner of his Captain’s hurts, and Miss Peyton cheerfully 


THE SPY 


141 


accorded the required accommodations. While the room 
intended for the trooper was getting ready, and th^ doctor 
was giving certain portentous orders, the Captain was in- 
vited to rest himself in the parlour. On the table was a 
dish of more substantial food than ordinarily Adorned the 
afternoon’s repast, and it soon caught the attention of the 
dragoons. Miss Peyton, recollecting that they had probably 
made their only meal that day at her own table, kindly 
invited them to close it w’ith another. The offer required 
no pressing, and in a few minutes the two were comfort- 
ably seated, and engaged in an employment that was only 
interrupted by an occasional wry face from the Captain, 
who moved his body in evident pain. These interrup- 
tions, however, interfered but little with the principal busi- 
ness in hand; and the Captain had got happily through 
with this important duty, before the surgeon returned to 
announce all things ready for his accommodation, in the 
room above stairs. 

“Eating!” cried the astonished physician; “Captain Law- 
ton, do you wish to die?” 

“I have no particular ambition that way,” said the 
trooper, rising, and bowing good-night to the ladies, “and, 
therefore, have been providing the materials necessary to 
preserve life.” 

The surgeon muttered his dissatisfaction, while he fol- 
lowed Mason and the Captain from the apartment. 

Every house in America had, at that day, what was 
emphatically called its best room, and this had been 
allotted, by the unseen influence of Sarah, to Colonel Well- 
mere. The down counterpane, which a clear frosty night 
would render extremely grateful over bruised limbs, decked 
the English officer’s bed. A massive silver tankard, richly 
embossed with the Wharton arms, held the beverage he 
was to drink during the night; while beautiful vessels of 
china performed the same office for the two American 
captains. Sarah was certainly unconscious of the silent 
preference she had been giving to the English officer; and 
it is equally certain, that but for his hurts, bed, tankard, 
and every thing but the beverage, would have been matters 


) 


142 THE SPY 

of indifference to Captain Lawton, half of whose nights 
were spent in his clothes, and not a few of them in the 
saddle. After taking possession, however, of a small but 
very comfortable room. Doctor Sitgreaves proceeded to 
enquire into the state of his injuries. He had begun to 
pass his hand over the body of his patient, when the latter 
cried impatiently — 

“Sitgreaves, do me the favour to lay that rascally saw 
aside, or I shall have recourse to my sabre in self-defence; 
the sight of it makes my blood cold.” 

“Captain Lawton, for a man who has so often exposed 
life and limb, you are unaccountably afraid of a very useful 
instrument.” 

“Heaven keep me from its use,” said the trooper, with a 
shrug. 

“You would not despise the lights of science, nor refuse 
surgical aid, because this saw might be necessary?” 

“I would.” 

“You would!” 

“Yes; you shall never joint me like a quarter of beef, 
while I have life to defend myself,” cried the resolute 
dragoon. “But I grow sleepy; are any of my ribs broken?” 

“No.” 

“Any of my bones?”" 

“No.” 

“Tom, I’ll thank you for that pitcher.” -As he ended his 
draught, he very deliberately turned his back on his com- 
panions, and good-naturedly cried — “Good-night, Mason; 
good-night, Galen.” - 

Captain Lawton entertained a profound respect for the 
surgical abilities of his comrade, but he was very skeptical 
on the subject of administering internally for the ailings 
of the human frame. With a full stomach, a stout heart, 
and a clear conscience, he often maintained that a man 
might bid defiance to the world and its vicissitudes. Nature 
provided him with the second, and, to say the truth, he 
strove manfully himself to keep up the other two requi- ^ 
sites in his creed. It was a favourite maxim with him, 
that the last thing death assailed was the eyes, and next 


THE SPY 


143 


to the last, the jaws. This he interpreted to be a clear 
expression of the intention of nature, that every man might 
regulate, by his own volition, whatever was to be admitted 
into the sanctuary of his mouth; consequently, if the guest 
proved unpalatable, he had no one to blame but himself. 
The surgeon, who was well acquainted with these views of 
his patient, beheld him, as he cavalierly turned his back 
on Mason and himself, with a commiserating contempt*, 
replaced in their leathern repository the phials he had 
exhibited, with a species of care that was allied to venera- 
tion, gave the saw, as he concluded, a whirl of triumph, and 
departed, without condescending to notice the compliment 
of the trooper. Mason, finding, by the breathing of- the Cap- 
tain, that his owm good-night would be unheard, hastened 
to pay his respects ’to the ladies — after which he mounted, 
and followed the troop at the top of his horse’s speed. 


CHAPTER X 


On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 

Some pious drops the closing eye requires, 

. E ’en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, 

E’en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

Gray. 

The possessions of Mr. Wharton extended to some dis- 
tance on each side of the house in which he dwelt, and 
most of his land was unoccupied. A few scattered dwell- 
ings were to be seen in different parts of his domains, but 
they were fast falling to decay, and were untenanted. The 
proximity of the country to the contending armies had 
nearly banished the pursuits of agriculture from the land. 

It was useless for the husbandman to devote his time, and 
the labour of his hands, to obtain overflowing garners, that 
the first foraging party would empty. None tilled the earth 
with any other view than to provide the scanty means of 
subsistence, except those who were placed so near to one 
of the adverse parties as to be safe from the inroads of the 
light troops of the other. To these the war offered a golden 
harvest, more especially to such as enjoyed the benefits of 
an access to the royal army. Mr. Wharton did not require 
the use of his lands for the purposes of subsistence; and he 
willingly adopted the guarded practice of the day, limiting 
his attention to such articles as were soon to be consumed 
within his own walls, or could be easily secreted from the 
prying eyes of the foragers. In consequence, the ground 
on which the action was fought had not a single inhabited 
building, besides the one belonging to the father of Harvey 
Birch. This house stood between the place where the 
cavalry had met, and that where the charge had been 
made on the party of Wellmere. 

To Katy Haynes it had been a day fruitful of incidents.^ 
The prudent houpkeeper had kept her political feelings In* 


144 


THE SPY 


145 


a state of rigid neutrality; her own friends had espoused 
the cause of the country, but the maiden herself never lost 
sight of that important moment, when, like females of more 
illustrious hopes she might be required to sacrifice her love 
of country on the altar of domestic harmony. And yet, 
notwithstanding all her sagacity, there were moments when 
the good woman had grievous doubts into which scale she 
ought to throw the weight of her eloquence, in order to be 
certain of supporting the cause favoured by the pedler. 
There was so much that was equivocal in his movements 
and manner, that often, when, in the privacy of their house- 
hold, she was about to utter a philippic on Washington and 
his followers, discretion sealed her mouth, and distrust 
beset her mind. In short, the whole conduct of the myste- 
rious being she studied was of a character to distract the 
opinions of one who took a more enlarged view of men and 
life than came within the competency of his housekeeper. 

The battle of the Plains had taught the cautious Washing- 
ton the advantages his -enemy possessed in organisation, 
arms, and discipline. These were difficulties to be mas- 
tered by his own vigilance and care. Drawing off his troops 
to the heights, in the northern part of the county, he had 
bidden defiance to the attacks of the royal army, and Sir 
William Howe fell back to the enjoyment of his barren 
conquest — a deserted city. Never afterwards did the oppos- 
ing armies make the trial of strength within the limits of 
West-Chester; yet hardly a day passed, that the partisans 
did not make their inroads; or a sun rise, that the inhabit- 
ants were spared the relation of excesses which the pre- 
ceding darkness had served to conceal. Most of the move- 
ments of the pedler were made at the hours which others 
allotted to repose. The evening sun would frequently leave 
him at one extremity of the county, and the morning find 
him at the other. His pack was his never-failing com- 
panion; and there were those who closely studied him, in 
his moments of traffic, and thought his only purpose was 
the accumulation of gold. He would be often seen near the 
Highlands, with a body bending under its load; and again 
near the Harlem River, travelling with lighter steps, with 


14 () 


I' I IE SPY 


his face towards the setting sim. But these glances at him 
were uncertain and fleeting. The intermediate time no eye 
could penetrate. For months he disappeared, and no traces 
of his course were ever known. j 

Strong parties held the heights of Harlem, and the north- j 
ern end of Manhattan Island was bristling with the bayo- ( 
nets of the English sentinels, yet the pedler glided among | 
them unnoticed and uninjured. His approaches to the 
American lines were also frequent; but generally so con- 
ducted as to baffle pursuit. Many a sentinel, placed in the 
gorges of the mountains, spoke of a strange figure that had 
been seen gliding by them in the mists of the evening. These 
stories reached the ears of the officers, and, as we have 
related, in two instances the trader had fallen into the 
hands of the Americans. The first time he had escaped 
from Lawton, shortly after his arrest; but the second he . 
was condemned to die. On the morning of his intended 
execution, the cage was opened, but the bird had flown, 
This extraordinary escape had been made from the custody 
of a favourite officer of Washington, and sentinels who had ^ 
been thought w'orthy to guard the person of the Commander-..- 
in-chief. Bribery and treason could not be imputed to men ^ 
so well esteemed, and the opinion gained ground among the 
common soldiery, that the pedler had dealings with the v 
dark one. Katy, however, always repelled this opinion with a 
indignation; for within the recesses of her own bosom, the^ 
housekeeper, in ruminating on the events, concluded that^^ 
the evil spirit did not pay in gold. Nor, continued the j 
wary spinster in her cogitations, does Washington; paper j 
and promises were all that the leader of the American | 
troops could dispense to his servants. After the alliance 
with France, when silver became' more abundant in the| 
country, although the scrutinising eyes of Katy never let . 
any opportunity of examining into the deer-skin pur^e passu 
unimproved, she was never able to detect the image of" 
Louis intruding into the presence of the well-known counter 
nance of George III. In short, the- secret hoard of Harvey 
sufficiently showed in its contents that all its contributions 
had been received from the British. 


THE SPY 


147 


The house of Birch had been watched at different times 
by the Americans, with a view to his arrest, but never with 
success; the reputed spy possessing a secret means of 
intelligence, that invariably defeated their schemes. Once, 
when a strong body of the continental army held the Four 
Corners for a whole summer, orders had been received from 
Washington himself, never to leave the door of Harvey 
Birch unwatched. The command was rigidly obeyed, and 
during this long period the pedler wa^ unseen; the detach- 
ment was withdrawn, and the following night Birch re- 
entered his dwelling. The father of Harvey had been 
greatly molested, in consequence of the suspicious charac- 
ter of the son. But, notwithstanding the most minute 
scrutiny into the conduct of the old man, no fact could be 
substantiated against him to his injury, and his property 
was too small to keep alive the zeal of patriots by profes- 
sion. Its confiscation and purchase would not have rewarded 
their trouble. Age and sorrow were now about to spare him 
further molestation, for the lamp of life had been drained 
of its oil. The recent separation of the father and son had 
been painful, but they had submitted in obedience to what 
both thought a duty. The old man had kept his dying 
situation a secret from the neighbourhood, in the hope that 
he might still have the company of his child in his last 
moments. The confusion of the day, and his increasing 
oread that Harvey might be too late, helped to hasten the 
■event he would fain arrest for a little while. As night set 
in, his illness increased to such a degree, that the dismayed 
housekeeper sent a truant boy, who had shut up himself 
with them, during the combat, to the Locusts, in quest of a 
companion to cheer her solitude. Cjesar, alone, could be 
spared, and, loaded with eatables an4 cordials by the kind- 
hearted Miss Peyton, the black had been despatched on this 
duty. The dying man was past the use of medicines, and 
his chief anxiety seemed to centre in a meeting with his 
child. 

The noise of the chase had been heard by the group in 
the house, but its cause was not understood; and as both the 
black and Katy were apprised of the detachment of Amer- 


148 


THE SPY 


ican horse being below them, they supposed it to proceed 
from the return of that party. They heard the dragoons, 
as they moved slowly by the building; but in compliance 
with the prudent injunction of the black, the housekeeper 
forebore to indulge her curiosity. The old man had closed 
his eyes, and his attendants believed him to be asleep. The 
house contained two large rooms, and as many small ones. 
One of the former served for kitchen and sitting-room; in 
the other lay the father of Birch; of the latter, one was the 
sanctuary of the vestal, and the other contained the stock 
of provisions. A huge chimney of stone rose in the centre, 
serving, of itself, for a partition between the larger rooms; 
and fire-places of corresponding dimensions were in each 
apartment. A bright flame was burning in that of the 
common room, and within the very jambs of its monstrous 
jaws sat Caesar and Katy, at the time of which we write. 
The African was impressing his caution on the housekeeper, 
and commenting on the general danger of indulging an idle 
curiosity. 

“Best nebber tempt a Satan,” said Caesar, rolling up his 
eyes till the whites glistened by the glare of the fire; “I 
Derry like heself to lose an ear for carrying a little bit of 
a letter; dere much mischief cora^ of curiosity. If dere 
had nebber been a man curious to see Africa, dere would 
be no coulour people out of deir own country: but I wish 
Harvey get back.” 

“It is very disregardful in him to be away at such a 
time,” said Katy, imposingly. “Suppose now his father 
wanted to make his last will in the testament, who is 
there to do so solemn and awful an act for him? Harvey is 
a very wasteful and a very disregardful man!” 

“Perhap he make him afore?” 

“It would not be a wonderment if he had,” returned the 
housekeeper; “he is whole days looking into the Bible.” 

“Then he read a berry good book,” said the black, sol- 
emnly, “Miss Fanny read in him to Dinah now and den.” 

“You are right, Caesar. The Bible is the best of books, 
and one that reads it as often as Hatvey’s father should ■ 


THE SPY 


141 ) 

have the best of reasons for so doing. This is no more than 
common sense.” 

She rose from her seat, and stealing softly to a chest of 
drawers in the room of the sick man, she took from it a 
large Bible, heavijy bound, and secured with strong clasps 
of brass, with which she returned to the negro. The volume 
was eagerly opened, and they proceeded instantly to exam- 
ine its pages. Katy was far from an expert scholar, and to 
Capsar the characters were absolutely strangers. For some 
time the housekeeper was occupied in finding out the word 
Matthew, in which she had no sooner succeeded than she 
pointed out the word, with great complacency, to the atten- 
tive Caesar. 

“Berry well, now look him t’rough,” said the black, peep- 
ing over the housekeeper’s shoulder, as he held a long, lank 
candle of yellow tallow, in such a manner as to throw its 
feeble light on the volume. 

“Yes,” but I must begin with the very beginning of the 
book,” replied the other, turning the leaves carefully back, 
until, moving two at once, she lighted upon a page covered 
with writing. “Here,” said the housekeeper, shaking with 
the eagerness of expectation, “here are the very words 
themselves; now I would give the world itself to know 
whom he has left the big silver shoe-buckles to.” 

“Read ’em,” said Caesar, laconically. 

“And the black walnut drawers; for Harvey could never 
want furniture of that quality, as long as he is a bachelor!” 

“Why he no want ’em as well as he fader?” 

“And the six silver table-spoons; Harvey always uses the 
iron!” 

“P’r’ap he say, widout so much talk,” returned the senten- 
tious black, pointing one of his crooked and dingy fingers 
at the open volume. v 

Thus repeatedly advised, and impelled by her own curios- 
ity, Katy began to rea'd. Anxious to come to the part which 
most interested herself, she dipped at once into the centre 
of the subject. 

“Chester Birch, horn September 1st, 1755 ," — read the 


150 


THE SPY 


spinster, with a deliberation that did no great' honour to 
her scholarship. 

“Well, what he gib him?” 

'‘Abigail Birch, born July IMh, 1757,” — continued the 
housekeeper in the same tone. 

“I t’ink he ought to gib her 'e spoon.” 

“June 1st, 1760. On this awful day, the judgment of an 
offended God lighted on my house:” — a heavy groan from 
the adjoining room made the spinster instinctively close 
the volume, and Csesar, for a moment, shook with fear. 
Neither possessed sufficient resolution to go and examine ^ 
the condition of the sufferer, but his heavy breathing con- 
tinued as usual. Katy dare not, however, reopen the Bible, 
and carefully securing its clasps, it was laid on the table in 
silence. Csesar took his chair again, and after looking 
timidly round the room, remarked — 

“I fought he time war’ come!” 

“No,” said Katy, solemnly, “he will live till the tide is 
out, or the first cock crows in the iporning.” 

“Poor man!” continued the black, nestling still farther 
into the chimney-corner, “I hope he lay quiet after he die.” 

“ 'Twould be no astonishment to me if he didn’t; for they 
say an unquiet life makes an uneasy grave.” 

“Johnny Birch a berry good man in he way. All man- 
kind can’t be a minister; for if he do, who would be a con- 
gregation?” 

“Ah! CjEsar, he is good only who does good — can you tell 
me why honestly gotten gold should be hidden in the 
bov/els of the earth!” 

“Grach! — I fink it must be to keep fe Skinner from 
findin’ him; if he know where he be, why don’t he dig 
him up?” 

“There' may be reasons not comprehendible to you,” 
said Katy, moving her chair so that her clothes covered 
the charmed stone, underneath which lay the secret treas- 
ures of the pedler, unable to refrain speaking of that which 
she would have been very unwilling to reveal; “but a 
rough outside often holds a smooth inside.” Caesar stared 
around the building, unable to fathom the hidden meaning 


THE feri ~ 


151 


of hi:-3 companion, when his* roving eyes suddenly became 
fixed, and his teeth chattered with affright. The change 
in the countenance of the black was instantly perceived 
by Katy, and turning her face, she saw the pedler him- 
self, standing within the door of the room. 

‘Ts he alive?” asked Birch, tremulously, and seemingly 
afraid to receive the answer. 

“Surely,” said Katy, rising hastily, and officiously offer- 
ing her chair; “he must live till day, or till the tide is 
down.” 

Disregarding all but the fact that his father still lived, 
the pedler stole gently into the room of his dying parent. 
The tie which bound the father and son was of no ordinary 
kind. In the wide world they were all to each other. Had 
Katy but read a few lines farther in the record, she would 
have seen the sad tale of their misfortunes. At one blow 
competence and kindred had been swept from them, and 
from that day to the present hour, persecution and distress 
had followed their wandering steps. Approaching the bed- 
side, Harvey leaned his body forward, and, in a voice nearly 
choked by his feelings, he whispered near the ear of the 
sick — 

“Father, do you know me?” 

The parent slowly opened his eyes, and a smile of satis- 
faction passed over his pallid features, leaving behind it the 
impression of death, more awful by the contrast. The 
pedler gave a restorative he had brought with him to the 
parched lips of the sick man, and for a few minutes new 
vigour seemed imparted to his frame. He spoke, ‘but 
slowly, and with difficulty. Curiosity kept Katy silent; 
awe had the same effect on Caesar; and Harvey seemed 
hardly to breathe, as he listened to the language of the 
departing spirit. 

“My son,”'said the father in a hollow voice, “God is as 
merciful as he is just: if I threw the cup of salvation from 
my lips when a youth, he graciously offers it to me in nr4ne 
age. He has chastised to purify, and I go to join the spirits 
of our lost family. In a little while, my child, you will be 
alone. I know you too well not to foresee you will be a 


152 


TIIR SPY 


pilgrim through life. The bihiised reed may endure, but 
it will never rise. You have that within you, Harvey, 
that will guide you aright; persevere, as you have begun, 
for the duties of life are never to be neglected — and” — 
A noise in the adjoining room interrupted the dying man, 
and the impatient pedler hastened to learn the cause, fol- 
lowed by Katy and the black. The first glance of his eye 
on the figure in the doorway told the trader' but too well 
his errand, and the fate that probably awaited himself. 
The intruder was a man still young in years, but his” linea- 
ments bespoke a mind long agitated by evil passions. His 
dress was of the meanest materials, and so ragged and 
unseemly, as to give him the appearance of studied poverty. 
His hair was prematurely whitened, and his sunken, lower- 
ing eye, avoided the bold, forward look of innocence. There 
was a restlessness in his movements, and an agitation in 
his manner, that proceeded from the workings of the foul 
spirit within him, and which was not less offensive to 
others than distressing to himself. This man was a well- 
known leader of one of those gangs of marauders who 
infested the county with a semblance of patriotism, and 
who were guilty of every grade of offence, from simple 
theft up to murder. Behind him stood several other figures 
clad in a similar manner, but whose countenances ex- 
pressed nothing more than the indifference of brutal in- 
sensibility. They w'ere all well armed with muskets and 
bayonets, and provided with the usual implements of foot- 
soldiers. Harvey knew resistance to be vain, and quietly 
submitted to their directions. In the twinkling of an eye 
both he and C^sar were stripped of their decent garments, 
a.nd made to exchange clothes with two of the filthiest of 
the band. They were then placed in separate corners of 
the room, and, under the muzzles of the muskets, required 
faithfully to answer such interrogatories as were put to 
them. 

“Where is your pack?” was the first question to the 
pedlar. 

“Hear me,” said Birch, trembling with agitation; “in 
the next room is my father, now in the agonies of death; 


THE SPY 


155 


let me go to him, receive his blessing, and close his eyes, 
and you shall have all — ay, all.” 

“Answer me as I put the questions, or this musket shall 
send you to keep the old driveler company: — where is 
your pack?” 

“I will tell you nothing, unless you let me go to my' 
father,” said the pedler, resolutely. 

His persecutor raised his arm with a malicious sneer, 
and was about to execute his threat, when one of his com- 
panions checked him. 

“What would you do?” he said, “you surely forget the 
reward. Tell us where are your goods, and you shall go 
to your father.” 

Birch complied instantly, and a man was despatched in 
quest of the booty; he soon returned, throwing the bundle 
on the floor, swearing it was as light as feathers. 

“Ay,” cried the leader, “there must be gold somewhere 
for what it did contain. Give us your gold, Mr. Birch; 
we know you have it; you will not take continental, not 
you.” 

“You break your faith,” said Harvey. 

“Give us your gold,” exclaimed the other, furiously, 
pricking the pedler with his bayonet until the blood fol- 
lowed his pushes in streams. At this instant a slight move- 
ment was heard in the adjoining room, and Harvey cried 
imploringly — 

“Let me — let me go to my father, and you shall have 
all.” 

“I swear you shall go then,” cried the Skinner. 

“Here, take the trash,” cried Birch, as he threw aside 
the purse, which he had contrived to conceal, notwith- 
standing the change in his garments. 

The robber raised it from the floor with a hellish laugh. 

“Ay, but it shall be to your father in heaven.” 

“Monster! have you no feeling, no faith, no honesty?” 

“To hear him, one would think there was not a rope 
around his neck already,” said the other, laughing. “There 
is no necessity for your being uneasy, Mr. Birch; if the 
old man gets a few^ hours the start of you in the journey. 


154 


THE SPY 


you will be sure to follow him before noon tomorrow," 

This unfeeling communication had no effect on the ped- 
ler, who listened with gasping breath to every sound from 
the room of his parent, until he heard his own name spoken 
in the hollow, sepulchral tones of death. Birch could en- 
dure no more, but shrieking out — 

“Father! hush — father! I come — I come:” he darted by 
his keeper, and was the next moment pinned to the wall 
by the bayonet of another of the band. Fortunately, his 
quick motion had caused him to escape a thrust aimed 
at his life, and it was by his clothes only that he was con- 
fined. 

“No, Mr. Birch,” said the Skinner, “we know you too 
well for a slippery rascal, to trust you out of sight — your 
gold, your gold!” 

“You have it,” said the pedler, writhing with agony. 

“Ay, we have the purse, but you have more purses. 
King George is a prompt paymaster, and you have done 
him many a piece of good service. Where is your hoard? 
without it you will never see your father.” 

“Remove the stone underneath the woman,” cried the 
pedler, eagerly — “remove the stone.” 

“He raves! he raves!” said Katy, instinctively moving 
her position to a different stone from the one on which 
she had been standing. In a moment it was torn from its 
bed, and nothing but earth was seen beneath. 

“He raves! jmu have driven him from his right mind,” 
continued the trembling spinster; “would any man in his 
senses keep gold under a hearth?” 

“Peace, babbling fool!” cried Harvey. “Lift the corner 
stone, and you will find that which will make you rich, 
and me a beggar.” 

“And then you will be despisable,” said the housekeeper, 
bitterly. “A pedler without goods and without money is 
sure to be despisable.” 

“There will be enough left to pay for his halter,” cried 
the Skinner, who was not slow to follow the instructions of 
Harvey, soon lighting upon a store of English guineas. 
The money was quickly transferred to a bag, notwithstand- 


THE SPY 


155 


ing the declarations of the spinster, that her dues were 
unsatisfied, and that, of right, ten of the guineas were 
her property. 

Delighted with a prize that greatly exceeded their expec- 
tations, the l^and prepared to depart, intending to take the 
pedler with them, in order to give him up to the American 
troops above, and to claim the rew'ard offered for his appre- 
hension. Everything was ready, and they were about to 
lift Birch in their arms, for he resolutely refused to move 
an inch, when a form appeared in their midst, which ap- 
palled the stoutest heart among them. The father had 
arisen from his bed, and he tottered forth at the cries of his 
son. , Around his body was thrown the sheet of the bed, and 
his fixed eye and haggard face gave him the appearance of 
a being from another world. Even Katy and Csesar thought 
it was the spirit of the elder Bi^%h, and they fied the- house, 
followed by the alarmed Skinners in a body. 

The excitement, which had given the sick man strength, 
soon vanished, and the pedler, lifting him in his arms, re- 
conveyed him to his bed. The re-action of the system 
w^hich follow^ed hastened to close the scene. 

The glazed eye of the father wms fixed upon the son; his 
lips moved, but his voice was unheard. Harvey bent down, 
and, with the parting breath of his parent, received his 
dying benediction. A life of privation, and of wrongs, 
embittered most of the future hours of the pedler. But 
under no sufferings, in no misfortunes, the subject of pov- 
erty and obloquy, the remembrance of that blessing never 
left him; it constantly gleamed over the images of the past, 
shedding a holy radiance around his saddest hours of de- 
spondency; it cheered the prospect of the future with the 
prayers of a pious spirit; and it brought the sweet assur- 
ance of having faithfully and truly discharged the sacred 
offices of filial love. 

The retreat of Cassar and the spinster had been too ])re- 
cipitate to admit of much calculation; yet they themselves 
instinctively separated from the Skinners. After fleeing a 
short distance they paused, and the maiden commenced in 
a solemn voice — 


156 


THE SPY 


“Oh! Csesar, was it not dreadful to walk before he had 
been laid in his grave! It must have been the money that 
disturbed him: they say Captain Kidd walks near the 
spot where he buried gold in the old war.” 

“I neber tink Johnny Birch hab such a big eye!” said 
the African, his teeth yet chattering with the fright. 

“Pm sure ’twould be a botherment to a living soul to lose 
so much money. Harvey will be nothing but an utterly 
despisable, poverty-stricken wretch. I wonder who he 
thinks would be even his housekeeper!” 

“Maybe a spooke take away Harvey too,” observed 
Ca?sar, moving still nearer to the side of the maiden. But / 
a new idea had seized the imagination of the spinster. She 
thought it not improbable that the prize had been forsaken 
in the confusion of the retreat; and after deliberating and 
reasoning for some time with Caesar, they determined to 
venture back, and ascertain this important fact, and, if 
possible, learn what had been the fate of the pedler. Much 
time was spent in cautiously approaching the dreaded spot; 
and as the spinster had sagaciously placed herself in the 
line of the retreat of the Skinners, every stone was exam- 
ined in the progress in search of the abandoned gold. But 
although the suddenness of the alarm and the cry of Caesar 
had impelled the freebooters to so hasty a retreat, they 
grasped the hoard with a hold that death itself would not 
have loosenedi Perceiving, every thing to be quiet within, 
Katy at length mustered resolution to. enter the dwelling, 
where she foun^-the pedler, with a heavy heart, performing 
the last sad offices for the dead. A few words sufficed to 
explain to Katy the nature of her mistake; but CoBsar con- 
tinued to his dying day to astonish the sable inmates of the 
kitchen with learned dissertations on spookes, and to relate 
how direful was the appearance of that of Johnny Birch. 

The danger compelled the pedler to abridge even the 
short period that American custom leaves the deceased 
with us; and, aided by the black and Katy, his painful 
task was soon ended. Caesar volunteered to walk a couple 
of miles with orders to a carpenter; and, the body being 
habited in its ordinary attire, was left, with a sheet thrown 


THE SPY 


157 


decently over it, to await the return of the messenger. 

The Skinners had fled precipitately to the wood, which 
was hut a short distance from the house of Birch, and once 
safely sheltered within its shades, they halted, and mus- 
tered their panic-stricken forces. 

“What in the name of fury seized your coward hearts?” 
cried their dissatisfied leader, drawing his breath heavily. 

“The same question might be asked yourself,” returned 
one of the hand, sullenly. 

“From your fright, I thought a party of De Lancey’s 
men were upon us. Oh! you are brave gentlemen at a 
race!” 

“We follow our Captain!” 

“Then follow me back, and let us secure the scoundrel, 
and receive the reward.” ^ 

“Yes; and by the time we reach the house, that black 
rascal will have the mad Virginian upon us: by my soul, 

I would rather meet fifty Cow-Boys than that single man.” 

“Fool!” cried the enraged leader, “don’t you know Dun- 
woodie’s horse are at the Corners, full two miles from 
here?” 

“I care not where the dragoons are, but I will swear that. 
I saw Captain Lawton enter the house of old Wharton, 
while I lay watching an opportunity of getting the British 
Colonel’s horse from the stable.” 

“And if he should come, won’t a bullet silence a dragoon 
from the south as well as one from old England?” 

“Ay, but I don’t choose a hornet’s nest about my ears; 
rase the skin of one of that corps, and you will never see 
another peaceable night’s foraging again.” 

“Well,” muttered the leader, as they retired deeper into 
the wood, “this sottish pedler will stay to see the old devil 
buried; and though we cannot touch him at the funeral 
(for that w^ould raise every old woman and priest in Amer- 
ica against us), he’ll wait to look after the movables, and 
to-morrow night shall wind up his concerns.” 

With this threat they withdrew to one of their usual 
places of resort, until darkness should again give them an 
opportunity of marauding on the community without dan- 
ger of detection. 


CHAPTER XI 


O wo! O woful, woful, woful day! - - 

. • Most lamentable day: most woful day, . 

That eVer, ever, I did yet behold ! 

O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! 

Never was seen so black a day as this: Ij 

O woful day! O woful day! |!: 

Shakspeare, ! 

The family at the Locusts had slept, or watched, through 1 
all the disturbances at the cottage of Birch, in perfect 
ignorance of their occurrence. The attacks of the Skinners i 
were always made with so much privacy as to exclude the | 
sufferers, not only from succour, but frequently, through a * 
dread of future depredations, from the commiseration of 
their neighbours also. Additional duties had drawn the 
ladies from their pillows at an hour somewhat earlier than 
usual; and Captain Lawton, notwithstanding the sufferings, 
of his body, had risen in compliance with a rule from w^hich , 
he never departed, of sleeping but six hours at a time. , 
This was one of the few' points, in which the care of the i 
human frame was involved, on which the trooper and the i 
surgeon of horse were ever known to agree. The doctor 
had watched, during the night, by the side of the bed of 
Captain Singleton, without once closing his eyes. Occa- 
sionally he would pay a visit to the wounded Englishman, 
who, being more hurt in the spirit than in the flesh, toler- 
ated the interruptions with a very ill grace; and once, for 
an instant, he ventured to steal softly to the bed of his ob- 
stinate comrade, and was near succeeding in obtaining a 
touch of his pulse, when a terrible oath, sworn by the 
trooper in a dream, startled the prudent surgeon, and 
warned him of a trite saying in the corps, “that Captain 
Lawton always slept with one eye open.” This group had 
assembled in one of the parlours as the sun made its 


158 


THE EEY 


159 


appearance over the eastern hill, dispersing' the columns of 
fog which had enveloped the low land. 

Miss Peyton Was looking from a window in the direction 
of the tenement of the pedler, and was expressing a kind 
anxiety after the welfare of the sick man, when the person 
of Katy suddenly emerged from the dense covering of an 
earthly cloud, whose mists were scattering before the cheer- 
ing rays of the sun, and was seen making hasty steps to- 
wards the Locusts. There was that in the air of the house- 
keeper which bespoke distress of a;n unusual nature, and 
the kind-hearted mistress of the Locusts opened the door 
of the room, with the benevolent intention of soothing a 
grief that seemed so overwhelming. A nearer view of the 
disturbed features of the visitor confirmed Miss Peyton in 
her belief; and, with the shock that gentle feelings ever 
experience at a sudden and endless separation from even 
the meanest of their associates, she said hastily — 

“Katy, is he gone?’* 

“No, ma’am,” replied the disturbed damsel, with great 
bitterness, “he is not yet gone, but he may go as soon as he 
pleases now, for the worst is done. I do verily believe, ' 
Miss Peyton, they haven’t so much as left him money 
enough to buy him another suit of clothes to cover his 
nakedness, and those he has on are none of the best, I can 
tell you.” ' 

“How,” exclaimed the other, astonished, “could any one 
have the heart to plunder a man in such distress?” 

“Hearts!” repeated Katy, catching her breath; “men 
like them have no bowels at all. Plunder and distress, 
indeed! Why, ma’am, there were in the iron pot, in plain 
sight, fifty-four guineas of gold, besides what lay under- 
neath, which I couldn’t count without handling; and I 
didn’t like to touch it, for they say that another’s gold is 
apt to stick — so, judging from that in sight, there wasn’t 
less than two hundred guineas, besides what might have 
been in the deer-skin purse. But Harvey is little better 
now than a beggar; and a beggar. Miss Jeanette, is the 
most awfully despisable of all earthly creatures.” 

“Poverty is to be pitied, and not despised,” said the lady. 


160 


THE SPY 


still unable to comprehend the extent of the misfortune 
that had befallen her neighbour during the night. “But 
how is the old man? and does this loss affect him much?” = 

The countenance of Katy changed, from the natural 
expression of concern, to the set form of. melancholy, as ; 
she answered — 

“He is happily removed from the cares of the world; 
the chinking of the money made him get out of his bed. 
and the poor soul found the shock too great for him. He 
died about two houts and ten minutes before the cocl^ ' 
crowed, as near as we can say;” — she was interrupted by 
the physician, who, approaching, ^enquired, with much 
interest, the nature of the disorder. Glancing her eye over 
the figure of this new acquaintance, Katy, instinctively 
adjusting her dress, replied — 

“ ’Twas the troubles of the times, and the loss of prop- 
erty, that brought hitn down; he wasted from day to day, 
and all my care and anxiety were lost; for now Harvey is' 
no better than a beggar, and who is there to pay me for 
what I have done?” 

“God will reward you for all the good you have done,” 
said Miss Peyton, mildly. 

“Yes,” interrupted the spinster hastily, and with an air 
of reverence that was instantly succeeded by an expression 
that denoted more of worldly care; “but then I have left 
my wages for three years past in the hands of Harvey, 
and how am I to get them? My brothers told me, again 
and again, to ask for my money; but I always thought 
accounts between relations were easily settled.” 

“Were you related, then, to Birch?” asked Miss Peyton, 
observing her to pause. 

“Why,” returned the housekeeper, hesitating a little, “I 
thought we were as good as so. I wonder if I have no claim 
on the house and garden; though they say, now it is .Har- 
vey’s, it will surely be confiscated;” turning to Lawton, 
who had been sitting in one posture, with 'his piercing 
eyes lowering at her through his thick brows, in silence, 
“perhaps this gentleman knows — he seems to take an in- 
terest in my story.” 


THE SPY 


161 


“Madam,” said the trooper, bowing very low, “both you 
and the tale are extremely interesting” — Katy smiled in- 
voluntarily — “but my humble knowledge is limited to the 
setting of a squadron in the field, and using it when there. 
I beg leave to refer you to Dr. Archibald Sitgreaves, a 
gentleman of universal attainments, and unbounded phil- 
anthropy; the very milk of human sympathies, and a 
mortal foe to all indiscriminate cutting.” 

The surgeon drew up, and employed himself in whistling 
a low air, as he looked over some phials on a table; but 
the housekeeper, turning to him with an inclination of the 
head, continued — 

“I suppose, sir, a woman has no dovfer in her husband’s 
property, unless they be actually married?” 

It was a maxim of Dr. Sitgreaves, that no species of 
knowledge was to be despised; and, consequently, he was 
an empiric in every thing but his profession. . At first, 
indignation at the irony of his comrade kept him silent; 
but, suddenly changing his purpose, he answered the ap- 
plicant with a good-natured smile — 

“I judge not. If death has anticipated your nuptials, 

I am fearful you have no remedy against his stern decrees.” 

To Katy this sounded well, although she understood 
nothing of its meaning, but “death” and “nuptials.” To 
this part of his speech, then, she directed her reply. 

“I did think he only waited the deatt of the old gentle- 
man before he married,” said the housekeeper, looking on 
the carpet; “but now he is nothing more than despisable, 
or, what’s the same thing, a pedler without house, pack,, 
or money. It might be hard for a man to get a wife at all 
in such a predicary — don’t you think it would. Miss 
Peyton?” 

“I seldom trouble myself with such things,” said the lady,, 
gravely. 

During this dialogue Captain Lawton had been studying 
the countenance and manner of the housekeeper, with a 
most ludicrous gravity; and, fearful the conversation would 
cease, he enquired, with an appearance of great interest — 


162 


THE SPY 


“You think it was age and debility that removed the old if 
gentleman at last?” f 

“And the troublesome times. Trouble is a heavy pull- . 
down to a sick-bed; but I suppose his time had come, and ' 
when that happens, it matters but little what doctor’s stuff • 
we take.” )l 

“Let me set you right in that particular,” interrupted the j 
surgeon; “we must all die, it is true, but it is permitted j 
us to use the lights of science, in arresting dangers as they j 
occur, until — ” I 

“We can die secundum ar^em,” cried the trooper. 

To this observation the physician did not deign to reply; I 
but, deeming it necessary to his professional dignity that 1 
the conversation should continue, he added — I 

“Perhaps, in this instance, judicious treatment might ' 

have prolonged the life of the patient. Who administered ; 
to the case?” 

“No one yet,” said the housekeeper, with quickness; “I ! 
expect he has made his last will in the testament.” i 

The surgeon disregarded the smile of the ladies, and | 
pursued his enquiries. ■ 

“It is doubtless wise to be prepared for death. But ! 
under whose care was the sick man during his indisposi- 
tion?” 

“Under mine,” answered Katy, with an air of a little 
importance; “and care thrown away I may well call it; 
for Harvey is quite too despisable to be any sort of com- 
pensation at present.” 

The mutual ignorance of each other’s meaning made 
very little interruption to the dialogue, for both took a 
good deal for granted, and Sitgreaves pursued the subject. 
“And how did you treat him?” 

“Kindly, you niay be certain,” said Katy, rather tartly, 
“The doctor means medically, madam,” observed Captain 
Lawton, with a face that would have honoured the funeral 
of the deceased. 

“I doctor’d him mostly with yarbs,” said the house- 
keeper, smiling, as if conscious of error. 

“With simples,” returned the surgeon; “they are safer in 


THE SPY 


163 


the hands of the unlettered than more powerful remedies: 
but why had you no regular attendant?” 

“I’m sure Harvey has suffered enough already from hav- 
ing so much concerns with the rig’lars,” replied the 
housekeeper; “he has lost his all, and made himself a 
vagabond through the land; and I have reason to rue the 
day I ever crossed the threshold of his house.” 

“Dr. Sitgreaves does not mean a rig’lar soldier, but a 
regular physician, madam,” said the trooper. 

“Oh!” cried the maiden, again correcting herself, “for 
the best of all reasons; there was none to be had, so I took 
care of him myself. If there had been a doctor at hand, 
I aha sure we would gladly have had him; for my part, I 
am clear for doctoring, though Harvey says I am killing 
myself with medicines; but I am sure it will make but little 
difference to him, whether I live or die.” 

“Therein you show your sense,” said the surgeon, ap- 
proaching the spinster, who sat holding the palms of her 
hands and the soles of her feet to the genial heat of a line 
fire, making the most of comfort amid all her troubles; 
“you appear to be a sensible, discreet woman, and some 
who have had opportunities of acquiring more correct 
views might envy you your respect for knowledge and the 
lights of science.” 

Although the housekeeper did not altogether comprehend 
the other’s meaning, she knew he used a compliment, and 
as such was highly pleased with what he said; with in- 
creased animation, therefore, she cried, “It was always said 
of me, that I wanted nCthing but opportunity to make quite 
a physician myself; so long as before I came to live with 
Harvey’s father, they called me the petticoat doctor.” 

“More true than civil, I dare say,” returned the surgeon, 
losing sight of the woman’s character in his admiration of 
her respect for the healing art. “In the absence of more 
enlightened counsellors, the experience of a discreet matron 
is frequently of great efficacy in checking the progress of 
disease; under such circumstances, madam, it is dreadful 
to have to contend with ignorance and obstinacy.” 

“Bad enough, as I well know from experience,” cried 


164 


THE SPY 


Katy, in triumph; ‘‘Harvey is as obstinate about such 
things as a dumb beast; one would think the care I took 
of his bed-ridden father might learn him better than to 
despise good nursing. But some day he may know what it 
is to want a careful woman in his house, though now I am 
sure he is too despisable himself to have a house.” 

“Indeed, I can easily comprehend the mortification you 
must have felt in having one so self-willed to deal with,” re- 
turned the surgeon, glancing his eyes reproachfully at his 
comrade; “but you should rise superior to such opinions, 
and pity the ignorance by which they are engendered.” 

The housekeeper hesitated a moment, at a loss to com- 
prehend all that the surgeon expressed, yet she felt it was 
both complimentary and kind; therefore, suppressing her 
natural flow of language a little, she replied — 

“I tell Harvey his conduct is often condemnable, and last 
night he made my words good; but the opinions of such 
unbelievers is not very consequential; yet it is dreadful 
to think how he behaves at times: now, when he threw 
away the needle — ” 

“What!” said the surgeon, interrupting her, “does he 
affect to despise the needle? But it is my lot to meet with 
men, daily, who are equally perverse, and who show a still 
more culpable disrespect for the information that flows 
from the lights of science.” 

The doctor turned his face towards Captain Lawton while 
speaking, but the elevation of the head prevented his 
eyes from resting on the grave countenance maintained by 
the trooper. Katy listened with admiring attention, and 
when the other had done, she added — 

' “Then Harvey is a disbeliever in the tides.” 

“Not believe in the tides!” repeated the healer of bodies 
in astonishment; “does the man distrust his senses? but 
perhaps it is the influence of the moon that he doubts.” 

“That he does!” exclaimed Katy, shaking with delight 
at meeting with a man of learning, who could support her 
favourite opinions. “If you was to hear him talk, yon 
would think he didn’t believe there was such a thing as a 
moon at all.” 


THE SPY 


165 


“It is the misfortune of ignorance and incredulity, 
madam, that they feed themselves. The mind once reject- 
ing useful information, insensibly leans to superstition and 
conclusions on the order of nature, that are not less preju- 
dicial to the cause oi truth, than they are at variance with 
the first principles of human knowledge.” 

The spinster was too much awe-struck to venture an 
undigested reply to this speech; and the surgeon, after 
pausing a moment in a kind of philosophical disdain, con- 
tinued — 

“That any man in his senses can doubt of the fiux of the 
tides is more than I could have thdught possible; yet 
obstinacy is a dangerous inmate to harbour, and may lead 
us into any error, however gross.” 

“You think, then, they have an effect on the fiux,” said 
the housekeeper, enquiringly. 

Miss Peyton rose, and beckoned her nieces to give her 
their assistance in the adjoining pantry, while for a 
moment the dark visage of the attentive Lawton was 
lighted by an animation that vanished by an effort, as 
powerful, and as sudden, as the one that drew it into 
being. 

After refiecting whether he rightly understood the mean- 
ing of the other, the surgeon making due allowance for 
the love of learning, acting upon a want of education, 
replied — 

“The moon, you mean; many philosophers have doubted 
how far it affects the tides; but I think it is wilfully reject- 
ing the lights of science not to believe it causes both the 
fiux and refiux.” 

As refiux was a disorder with which Katy was not ac- 
quainted, she thought it prudent to be silent; yet burning 
with curiosity to know the meaning of certain portentous 
lights to which the other so often alluded, she ventured 
to ask — 

“If them lights he spoke of, were what was called north- 
ern lights in these parts?” 

In charity to her ignorance, the surgeon would have 
entered into an elaborate explanation of his meaning, had 


166 


THE SPY 


lie not been interrupted by the mirth of Lawton. The I'l 
trooper had listened so far with great composure; but now f 
he laughed until his aching bones reminded him of his f 
fall, and the tears rolled over his cheeks in larger drops j 
than had ever been seen there berore. At length the i 
offended physician seized an opportunity of a pause to j 
say — ' i 

“To you, Captain Lawton, it may be a source of triumph, 
that an uneducated woman should make a mistake in a 
subject, on which men of science have long been at vari- 
ance; but yet you find this respectable matron does not ; 
reject the lights — does not reject the use of proper instru- 
ments in repairing injuries sustained by the human frame. 
You may possibly remember, sir, her allusion to the use ! 
of the needle.” ~ 

“Ay,” cried tlie delighted trooper, “to mend the p'edler’s 
breeches.” 

Katy drew up in evident displeasure, and prompt to 
vindicate her character for more lofty acquirements, she 
said — 

“ ’Twas not a common use that I put that needle to — 
but one of much greater virtue.” 

“Explain yourself, madam,” said the surgeon impatiently, 
“that this gentleman may see how little reason he has for 
exultation.” 

Thus solicited, Katy paused to collect suificient eloquence 
to garnish her narrative. The substance of her tale was, 
that a child who had been placed by the guardians of the 
poor in the keeping of Harvey, had, in the absence of its 
master, injured itself badly in the foot by a large needle. 
The offending instrument had been carefully greased, 
wrapped in woollen, and placed in a certain charmed nook, 
of the chimney; while the foot, from a fear of weakening 
the incantation, was left in a state of nature. The arrival 
of the pedler had altered the whole of this admirable treat- 
ment; and the consequences w^ere expressed by Katy, as 
she concluded her narrative, by saying — / 

“’Twas no wonder the boy died of a lock-jaw!” 

Dr. Sitgreaves looked out of the window in admiration 


THE SPY 


167 


of the brilliant morning, striving all he could to avoid the 
basilisk eyes of his comrade. He was impelled, by a feel- 
ing that he could not conquer, however, to look Captain 
Lawton in the face. The trooper had arranged every 
muscle of his countenance to express sympathy for the fate 
of the poor child; but the exultation of his eyes cut the 
astounded man of science to the quick; he muttered some- 
thing concerning the condition of his patients, and re- 
treated with precipitation. 

Miss Peyton entered into the situation of things at tho 
house of the pedler, with all the interest of her excellent 
feelings; she listened patiently while Katy recounted, more 
particularly, the circumstances of the past night as they 
had occurred. The spinster did not forget to dwell on the 
magnitude of the pecuniary loss sustained by Harvey, and 
in no manner spared her invectives, at his betraying a 
secret which might so easily have been kept. 

“For, Miss Peyton,” continued the housekeeper, after a 
pause to take breath, “I w'ould have given up life before I 
would have given up that secret. At the most, they could 
only have killed him, and now a body may say that they 
have slain both soul and body; or, what’s the same thing, 
they have made him a despisable vagabond. I wonder 
who he thinks would be his wife, or who would keep his 
house. For my part, my good name is too precious to be 
living with a lone man; though, for the matter of that, he 
is never there. I am resolved to tell him this day, that 
stay there, a single woman, I will not an hour, after the 
funeral; and marry him I don’t think I will, unless he be- 
comes steadier, and more of a homebody.” 

The mild mistress of the Locusts suffered the exuberance 
of the housekeeper’s feeling to expend itself, and then, by 
one or two judicious questions, that denoted a more inti- 
mate knowledge of the* windings of the human heart in 
matters of Cupid, than might fairly be supposed to belong 
to a spinster, she extracted enough from Katy, to discover 
the improbability of Harvey’s ever presuming to offer him- 
self. with his broken fortunes, to the acceptance of Kath- 
arine Haynes. She, therefore, mentioned her own want of_ 


168 


THE SPY 


assistance in the present state of her household, and ex- i 
pressed a wish that Katy would change her residence to i 
the Locusts, in case the pedler had no further use for her 
services. After a few preliminary conditions on the part ! 
of the wary housekeeper, the arrangement was concluded; i 
and making a few more piteous lamentations on the weight ! 
of her own losses, the stupidity of Harvey, united with 
some curiosity to know the future fate of the pedler, Katy 
withdrew to make the necessary preparations for the ap- 
proaching funeral, which was to take place that day. 

During the interview between the two females, Lawton, ^ 
through delicacy, had vdthdrawn. Anxiety took him to 
the room of Captain Singleton. The character of this 
youth, it has already been shown, endeared him in a pe- 
culiar manner to every officer in the corps. The singularly 
mild deportment of the young dragoon had, on so many 
occasions, been proved not to proceed from want of resolu- | 
tion, that his almost feminine softness of manner and ap- | 
pearance had failed to bring him into disrepute, even in 
that band of partisan warriors. | 

To the Major he was as dear as a brother, and his easy i 
submission to the directions of his surgeon had made him i 
a marked favourite with Dr. Sitgreaves. The rough usage 
the corps often received in its daring attacks, had brought i 
each of its officers, in succession, under the temporary ! 
keeping of the surgeon. To Captain Singleton the man of | 
science had decreed the palm of docility, on such occasions, 
and Captain Law’ton he had fairly black-balled. He fre- ! 
quently declared, with unconquerable simplicity and ear- 
nestness of manner, that it gave him more pleasure to see 
the former brought in wounded than any officer in the 
squadron, and that the latter afforded him the least; a 
compliment and condemnation that were usually received 
by the first of the parties with a quiet smile of good nature, 
and by the last with a grave bow of thanks. On the present 
occasion, the mortified surgeon and exulting trooper met in 
the room of Captain Singleton, as a place where they could 
act on common ground. Some time was occupied in joint 


THE SPY 


169 


attentions to the comfort of the wounded officer, and the 
doctor retired to an apartment prepared for his own 
accommodation; here, within a few minutes, he was sur- 
prised by the entrance of Lawton. The triumph of the 
trooper had been so complete, that he felt he could afford 
to be generous, and commencing by voluntarily throwing 
aside his coat, he cried carelessly — 

‘^Sitgreaves, administer a little of the aid of the lights of 
science to my body, if you please.” 

The surgeon was beginning to feel this was a subject 
that was intolerable, but venturing a glance towards his 
comrade, he saw with surprise the preparations he had 
made, and an air of sincerity about him, that was unusual 
to his manner when making such a request. Changing his 
intended burst of resentment to a tone of civil enquiry, he 
said — 

“Does Captain Lawton want any thing at my hands?” 

“Look for yourself, my dear sir,” said the trooper mildly; 
“here seem to be most of the colours of the rainbow, on this 
.shoulder.” 

“You have reason for saying so,” said the other, handling 
the part with great tenderness and consummate skill; “but 
happily nothing is broken. It is. wonderful how well you 
escaped ! ” 

“I have been a tumbler from my youth, and I am past 
minding a few falls from a horse; but, Sitgreaves,” he 
added with affection, and pointing to a scar on his body, 
“do you remember this bit of work?” 

“Perfectly well. Jack; it was bravely obtained, and neatly 
extracted; but don’t you think I had better apply an oil to 
these bruises?” 

“Certainly,” said Lawton, with unexpected condescen- 
sion. 

“ Now, my dear boy,” cried the doctor, exultingly, as he 
busied 'himself in applying the remedy to the hurts, “io 
you not think it would have been better to have done all 
this last night?’’’ 

“Quite probable.” 


170 


TITE SPY 




“Yes, Jack, but if you bad let me perform the operation 
of phlebotomy when I first saw you, it would have been 
of infinite service.” 

“No phlebotomy,” said the other, positively. 

“It is now too late; but a dose of oil would carry off the 
humours famously.” 

To this jthe Captain made no reply, but grated his teeth, 
in a way that showed the fortress of his mouth wa^ not to 
be assailed without a resolute resistance; and the expe- 
rienced physician changed the subject by saying — 

“It is a pity, John, that you did not catch the rascal, 
after the danger and trouble you incurred.” 

The Captain of dragoons made no reply; and, while 
placing some bandages on the wounded shoulder, the sur- 
geon continued—^ 

“If I have any wish at all to destroy human life, it is 
to have the pleasure of seeing that traitor hanged.” 

“I thought your business was* to cure and not to slay,” 
said the trooper, dryly. 

“Ay! but he has caused us such hegvy losses by his 
information, that I sometimes feel a very unphilosophicai 
temper towards that spy.” 

“You should not encourage such feelings of animosity to 
any of your fellow-creatures,” returned Lawton, in a tone 
that caused the operator to drop a. pin he was arranging in 
the bandages from his hand. He looked the patient in the 
face to remove all doubts of his identity: finding, how- 
ever, it was his old comrade. Captain John Lawton, who 
had spoken, he rallied his astonished faculties, and pro- 
ceeded by saying — 

“Your doctrine is just, and in general I subscribe to it. 
But, John, my dear fellow, is the bandage easy?” 

“Quite.” 

“I agree with you as a whole; but as matter is infinitely 
divisible, so no case exists without an exception. Lawton, 
do you feel easy?” 

“Very.” 

“It is not only cruel to the sufferer, but sometimes unjust 
to others, to take human life where a less punishment 


THE SPY 


171 


r 


) 


would answer the purpose. Now, Jack, if you were only — 
move your arm a little — if you were only — I hope you fee! 
easier, my dear friend?” 

“Much.” 

“If, my dear John, you would teach your men to cut with 
more discretion, it would answer you the same purpose — 
and give me great pleasure.” 

The doctor drew a heavy sigh, as he was enabled to get 
rid of what was nearest to his heart; and the dragoon 
coolly replaced his coat, saying with great deliberation as 
he retired — ■ 

“I know no troop that cut more judiciously; they gen- 
erally shave from the crown to the jaw.” 

The disappointed operator collected his intruments, and ' 
with a heavy heart proceeded to pay a visit to the room 
of Colonel Wellmere. 



# 





I 


CHAPTER XII 


This fairy form contains a soul as mighty 
As that which lives within a giant’s frame; 

These slender limbs, that tremble like the aspen 
At summer evening’s sigh, uphold a spirit, 

Which, roused, can tower to the height of heaven, 

And light those shining windows of the face 
With much of heaven’s own' radiance. 

Duo. 

The number and character of her guests had greatly 
added to the cares of Miss Jeanette Peyton. The morning 
found them all restored, in some measure, to their former 
ease of body, with the exception of the youthful captain 
of dragoons, who had been so deeply regretted by Dim- 
woodie. The wound of this officer was severe, though the 
surgeon persevered in saying that it was without danger. 
His comrade, we have shown, had deserted his couch; and 
Henry Wharton awoke from a sleep that had been undis- 
turbed by any thing but a dream of suffering amputation 
under the hands of a surgical novice. As it proved, how- 
ever, to be nothing but a dream, the youth found himself 
much refreshed by his slumbers; and Dr. Sitgreaves re- 
moved all further apprehensions by confidently pronounc- 
ing that he would be a w'ell man within a fortnight. ( 

, During all this time Colonel Wellmere did not make his 
appearance; he breakfasted in his own room, and, not- 
withstanding certain significant smiles of the man of 
science, declared himself too much injured to rise from his 
bed. Leaving him, therefore, endeavouring to conceal his 
chagrin in the solitude of his chamber, the surgeon pro- 
ceeded to the more grateful task of sitting an hour by the 
bedside of George Singleton. A slight flush was on the 
face of the patient as the doctor entered the room; and the 
latter advanced promptly, and laid his fingers on the pulse 


172 


THE SPY 


173 


of the youth, beckoning to him to be silent, while he mut- 
tered to himself — 

“Growing symptoms of a febrile pulse — no, no, my dear 
George, you must remain quiet and dumb; though your 
eyes look better, and your skin has even a moisture.” 

“Nay, my dear Sitgreaves,” said the youth, taking his 
hand, “you see there is no fever about me: look, is there 
any of Jack Lawton’s hoar-frost on my tongue?” 

“No, indeed,” said the surgeon, clapping a spoon in the 
mouth of the other, forcing it open, and looking dowm his 
throat as if disposed to visit the interior in person; “the 
tongue is well, and the pulse begins to lower again. Ah! 
the bleeding did you good. Phlebotomy is a sovereign 
specific for southern constitutions. But that madcap Law- 
ton obstinately refused to be blooded for a fall he had from 
his horse last night. Why, George, your case is becoming 
singular,” continued the doctor, instinctively throwing 
aside his wig; “your pulse even and soft, your skin moist, 
but your eye fiery, and cheek flushed. Oh! I must examine 
more closely into these symptoms.” 

“Softly, my good friend, softly,” said the youth, falling 
back on his pillow, and losing some of that colour which 
alarmed his companion; “I believe, in extracting the ball, 
you did for me all that is required. I am free from pain, 
and only weak, I do assure you.” 

“Captain Singleton,” said the surgeon, with heat, “it is 
presumptuous in you to pretend to tell your medical attend- 
ant when you are free from pain: if it be not to endble us 
to decide in such matters, of what avail the lights of 
science? For shame, George, for shame! even that per- 
verse fellow, John Lawton, could not behave with more 
obstinacy.” 

His patient smiled, as he gently repulsed his physician 
in an attempt to undo the bandages, and, with a returning 
glow to his cheeks, enquired — 

“Do, Archibald,” — a term of endearment that seldom 

failed to soften the operator’s heart, — “tell me what spirit 

from heaven has been gliding around my apartment, while 

! 

I lay pretending to sleep.” 


174 


THE SPY 


“If any one interferes with my patients,” cried the doctor, 
hastily, ‘T will teach them, spirit or no spirit, what it is to 
meddle with another man’s concerns,” 

“Tut — my dear fellow, there was no interference made, 
nor any intended; see,” exhibiting the bandages, “every 
thing is as you left it, — but it glided about the room with 
the grace of a, fairy, and the tenderness of an angel,” 

The surgeon, having satisfied himself that every thing 
was as he had left it, very deliberately resumed his seat 
and replaced his wig, as he enquired, with a brevity that 
would have honoured Lieutenant Mason — 

“Had it petticoats, George?” 

“I saw nothing but its heavenly eyes — its bloom — its 
majestic step — its grace,” replied the young man, with 
rather more ardour than his surgeon thought consistent 
with his debilitated condition; and he laid his hand on his 
mouth to stop him, saying himself — 

“It must have been Miss Jeanette Peyton — a lady of fine 
accomplishments, with — hem — with spmething of the kind 
of step you speak of — a very complacent eye; and as to the 
bloom, I dare say offices of charity can summon as fine a 
colour to her cheeks, as glows in the faces of her more 
youthful nieces,” 

“Nieces! has she nieces, then? The angel I saw may be 
a daughter, a sister, or a niece, — but never an aunt,” 
“Hush, George, hush; your talking has brought your 
pulse up again. You must observe quiet, and prepare for 
a meeting with your own sister, who will be here within an 
hour,” 

“What, Isabella! and who sent for her?” 

“The Major.” 

“Considerate Dunwoodie!” murmured the exhausted 
youth, sinking again on his pillow, where the commands 
of his attendant compelled him to remain silent. 

Even Captain Lawton had been received with many and 
courteous enquiries after the state of his health, from all 
the members of the family, when he made his morning 
entrance; but an invisible spirit presided over the com- 
forts of the English Colonel. Sarah had shrunk with con- 


THE SPY 


175 


sciousness from entering the room; yet she knew the posi- 
tion of every glass, and had, with her own hands, supplied 
the contents of every bowl, that stood on his table. 

At the time of our tale, we were a divided people, and 
Sarah thought it was no more than her duty to cherish the 
institutions of that country to which she yet clung as 
the land of her forefathers; but there were other and more 
cogent reasons for the silent preference she was giving to 
the Englishman. His image had first filled the void in 
her youthful fancy, and it was an image that was distin- 
guished by many of those attractions that can enchain a 
female heart. It is true, he wanted the personal excellence 
of Peyton Dtinwoodie, but his pretensions were far from 
contemptible. Sarah had moved about the house during* 
the morning, casting frequent and longing glances at the 
door of Wellmere’s apartment, anxious to learn the condi- 
tion of his wounds, and yet ashamed to enquire; conscious 
interest kept her tongue tied, until her sister, with the 
frankness of innocence, had put the desired question to 
Dr. Sitgreaves. 

“Colonel Wellmere,” said the operator, gravely, “is in 
what I call a state of free-will, madam. He is ill, or he is 
well, as he pleases. His case, young lady, exceeds my art 
to heal; and I take it Sir Henry Clinton is the best adviser 
he can apply to; though Major Dunwoodie has made the 
communication with his leech rather difficult.” 

Frances smiled, but averted her face, while Sarah moved, 
with the grace of an offended Juno, from the apartment. 
Her own room, however, afforded her but little relief, and 
in passing through the long gallery that communicated 
with each of the chambers of the building, she noticed the 
door of Singleton’s room to be open. The wounded youth 
seemed sleeping, and was alone. She had ventured lightly 
into the apartment, and busied herself for a few minutes in 
arranging the tables, and the nourishment provided for 
the patient, hardly conscious of what she was doing, and 
possibly dreaming that these little feminine offices were 
performed for another. Her natural bloom was heightened 
by the insinuation of the surgeon, nor was the lustre of 


176 


THE SPY 


her eye in any degree diminished. The' sound of the ap- 
proaching footstep of Sitgreaves hastened her retreat down 
a private stairway, to the side, of her sister. The sisters 
then sought the fresh air on the piazza; and as they pur- 
sued their walk, arm in arm, the following dialogue took 
place: — 

“There is something disagreeable about this surgeon of 
Dunwoodie,” said Sarah, “that causes me to wish him away 
most heartily.” 

Frances fixed her laughing eyes on her sister; but for- 
bearing to speak, the other readily construed their expres- 
sion, and hastily added, “But I forget he is one of your 
renowned corps of Virginians, and must be spoken of 
reverently.” 

“As respectfully as you please, my dear sister; there is 
but little danger of exceeding the truth.” 

“Not in your opinion,” said the elder, with a little, 
warmth; “but I think Mr. Dunwoodie has taken a liberty 
that exceeds the rights of consanguinity; he has made our 
father’s house a hospital.” 

“We ought to be grateful that none of the patients it 
contains are dearer to us.” 

“Your brother is one.” 

“True, true,” interrupted Frances, blushing to the eyes; 
“but he leaves his room, and thinks his wound lightly 
purchased by the pleasure of being with his friends. If,” 
she added, with a tremulous lip, “this dreadful suspicion 
that is affixed to his visit were removed, I could consider 
his wound of little moment.” 

“You now have the fruits of rebellion brought home to 
you; a brother wounded and a prisoner, and perhaps a 
victim; your father distressed, his privacy interrupted, 
and not improbably his estates torn from him, on account 
of his loyalty to his king.” 

Frances continued her walk in silence. While facing the 
northern entrance to the vale, her eyes were uniformly 
fa.stened on the point where the road was suddenly lost 
by the intervention of a hill; and at each turn, as she 
lost sight of the spot, she lingered until an impatient! 


THE SPY 


177 


movement of her sister quickened her pace to an even 
motion with that of her own. At length, a single horse- 
chaise was seen making its w'ay carefully among the stones 
which lay scattered over the country road that wound 
through the walley, and approached the cottage. The 
colour of Frances changed as the vehicle gradually drew 
nearer; and when she was enabled to see a female form in 
it by the side of a black in livery, her limbs shook with 
an agitation that compelled her to lean on Sarah for sup- 
port. In a few mJnutes the travellers approached the gate. 
It was thrown open by a dragoon who followed the car- 
riage, and who had been the messenger despatched by Dun- 
woodie to the father of Captain Singleton. Miss Peyton 
advanced to receive their guest, and the sisters united in 
giving her the kindest welcome; still Prances could with 
difficulty withdraw her truant eyes from the countenance 
of their visitor. She was young, and of a light and fragile 
form, but of exquisite proportions. Her eye was large, 
full, black, piercing, and at times a little wild. Her hair 
was luxuriant, and as it was without the powder it was 
then the fashion to wear, it fell in raven blackness. A few 
of its locks had. fallen on her cheek, giving its chilling 
whiteness by the contrast a more deadly character. Dr. 
Sitgreaves supported her from the chaise; and when she 
gained the floor of the piazza, she turned an expressive 
look on the face of the practitioner. 

“Your brother is out of danger, and wishes to see you. 
Miss Singleton,” said the surgeon. 

The lady burst into a flood of tears. Frances had stood 
contemplating the action and face of Isabella with a kind 
of uneasy admiration, but she now sprang to her side with 
the ardour of a sister, and kindly drawing her arm within 
her own, led the way to a retired room. The movement 
was so ingenuous, so considerate, and so delicate, that even 
Miss Peyton withheld her interference, following the youth- 
ful pair with only her eyes and a smile of complacency. 
The feeling was communicated to all the spectators, and 
they dispersed in pursuit of their usual avocations. Isa- 
bella yielded to the gentle influence of Prances without 


178 


THE SPY 


resistance; and, having gained the room where the latter 
conducted her, wept in silence on the shoulder of the ob- 
servant and soothing girl, until Frances thought her tears 
exceeded the emotion natural to the occasion. The sobs 
of Miss Singleton for a time were violent and uncontrol- 
lable until, with an evident exertion, she yielded to a kind 
observation of her companion, and succeeded in suppress- 
ing her tears. Raising her face to the eyes of Frances, 
she rose, while a smile of beautiful radiance passed over 
her features; and making a hasty apology for the excess of 
her emotion, she desired to he conducted to the room of 
the invalid. 

The meeting between the brother and sister was warm, 
but, by an effort on the part of the lady, more composed 
than her previous agitation had given reason to expect. 
Isabella found her brother looking better, and in less dan- 
ger than her sensitive imagination had led her to suppose. 
Her spirits rose in proportion; from despondency, she 
passed to something like gayety; her beautiful eyes 
sparkled with renovated brilliancy; and her face was 
lighted with smiles so fascinating that Frances, who, in 
compliance with her earnest entreaties, had accompanied 
her to the sick chamber, sat gazing on a countenance that 
possessed so wonderful variability, impelled by a charm 
that was beyond her control. The youth had thrown an 
earnest look at Frances, as soon as his sister raised herself 
from his arms, and perhaps it was the first glance at the 
lovely lineaments of our heroine, Vv^hen the gazer turned , 
his eyes from the view in disappointment. He seemed 
bewildered, rubbed his forehead like a man awaking from 
a dream, and mused. 

'‘Where is Dunwoodie, Isabella?” he said; “the excellent 
fellow is never weary of kind actions. After a day of such 
service as that of yesterday, he has spent the night in 
bringing me a nurse, whose presence alone is able to raise 
me from my couch.” 

The expression of the lady’s countenance changed; her 
eye roved round the apartment with a character of wild- 




THE SPY 


179 


ness in it that repelled the anxious Franqes, who studied 
her movements with unabated interest. 

“Dunwoodie! is he then not here? I thought to have 
met him by the side of my brother’s bed.” 

“He has duties that require his presence elsewhere: the 
English are said to be out by the way of the Hudson, and 
they give us light troops but little rest: surely nothing 
else could have kept him so long from a wounded friend. 
But, Isabella, the meeting has been too much for you; -you 
tremble.” 

Isabella made no reply: she stretched her hand towards 
the table which held the nourishment of the Captain, and 
the attentive Frances comprehended her wishes in a 
moment. A glass of water in some measure revived the 
sister, who was enabled to say — 

“Doubtless it is his duty. ’Twas said above, a royal 
party was moving on the river; though I passed the troops 
but two miles from this spot.” The latter part of the sen- 
tence was hardly audible, and it was spoken more in the 
manner of a soliloquy, than as if intended for the ears of 
her companions. 

“On the march, Isabella?” eagerly enquired her brother. 

“No, dismounted, and seemingly at rest,” was the reply. 

The wondering dragoon turned his gaze on the counte- 
nance of his sister, who sat with her eye bent on the 
carpet in unconscious absence, but found no explanation. 
His look was changed to the face of Frances, who, startled 
by the earnestness of his expression, arose, and hastily 
enquired if he would have any assistance. 

“If you can pardon the rudeness,” said the wounded 
officer, making a feeble effort to raise his body, “I would 
request to have Captain Lawton’s company for a moment.” 

Frances hastened instantly to communicate his wish to 
that gentleman, and, impelled by an interest she could not 
control, she returned again to her seat by the side of Miss 
Singleton. 

“Lawton,” said the youth, impatiently, as the trooper 
entered, “hear you from the Major?” 


180 


THE SPY 


The eye of the sister was now bent on the face of the 
trooper, who made his salutations to the lady with ease, 
blended with the frankness of a soldier. 

“His man has been here twice,” he said, “to enquire how 
we fared in the Lazaretto.” 

“And why not himself?” 

“That is a question the Major can answer best; but you ^ 
know the red-coats are abroad, and Dunwoodie commandfs ! 
in the countjx^ these English must be looked to.” | 

“True,”^ said Singleton, slowly, as if struck with the i 
other’s reasons; “but how is it that you are idle, when 
there is work to do?” ' 

“My sword arm is not in the best condition, and Roanoke , 
has but a shambling gait this morning; besides, there is ! 
another reason I could mention, if it were not that Miss ' 
Wharton would never forgive me.” 

“Speak, I beg, without dread of my displeasure,” said ' 
Frances, returning the good-humoured smile of the trooper, i 
with the archness natural to her own sweet face. 

“The odours of your kitchen, then,” cried Lawton I 
bluntly, forbid my quitting the domains, until I qualify ; 
myself to speak with more certainty concerning the' fatness 
of the land.” 

“Oh! aunt Jeanette is exerting herself to do credit to > 
my father’s hospitality,” said the laughing girl, “and I am i 
a truant from her labours, as I shall be a stranger to her i 
favour, unless I proffer my assistance.” 

Frances withdrew to seek her aunt, musing deeply on 
the character and extreme sensibility of the new acquaint- i 
ance chance had brought to the cottage. i 

The wounded officer followed her with his eyes, as she 
moved, with infantile grace, through the door of his apart- i 
ment, and as she vanished from his view, he observed — 
“Such an aunt and niece are seldom to be met with, ! 
Jack; this seems a fairy, but the aunt is angelic.” 

“You are doing well, I see; your enthusiasm for the sex , 
holds its own.” i 

“I should be ungrateful as well as insensible, did I not i 
bear testimony to the loveliness of Miss Peyton.” 


THE SPY 


181 


“A good motherly lady, but as to love, that is a matter 
of taste. A few years younger, with deference to her pru- 
dence and experience, would accord better with my fancy.” 

“She must be under twenty,” said the other, quickly. 

‘Tt depends on the way you count. If you begin at the 
heel of life, well; but if you reckon downward, as is most 
common, I think she is nearer forty.” 

‘‘You have mistaken an elder sister for the aunt,” said 
Isabella, laying her fair hand on the mouth of the invalid; 
“you must be silent! your feelings are beginning to affect 
your frame.” 

The entrance of Dr. Sitgreaves, who, in some alarm, 
noticed the increase of feverish symptoms in his patient, 
enforced this mandate; and the trooper withdrew to pay 
a visit of condolence to Roanoke, who had been an equal 
sufferer with himself in their last night’s somerset. To 
his great joy, his man pronounced the steed to be equally 
convalescent with the master; and Lawton found that by 
dint of rubbing the animal’s limbs, several hours without 
ceasing, he was enabled to place his feet in what he called 
systematic motion. Orders were accordingly given to be 
in readiness to rejoin the troop at the Four Cdrners, as 
soon as his master had shared in the bounty of the ap- 
proaching banquet. 

In the mean time, Henry Wharton entered the apart- 
ment of Wellmere, and by his sympathy succeeded in re- 
storing the Colonel to his own good graces. The lalter 
was consequently enabled to rise, and prepared to meet a 
rival of whom he had spoken so lightly, and, as the result 
had proved, with so little reason. Wharton knew that 
their misfortune, as they both termed their defeat, was 
owing to the other’s rashness; but he forbore to speak of 
anything except the unfortunate accident which had de- 
prived the English of their leader, and to which he good- 
naturedjy ascribed their subsequent discomfiture. 

“In short, Wharton,” said the Colonel, putting one leg 
out of bed, “it may be called a combination of untoward 
events; your own ungovernable horse prevented my orders 


182 


THE SP^ 


from being carried to the Major, in season to flank the 
rebels.” 

“Very true,” replied the Captain, kicking a slipper 
towards the bed; “had we succeeded in getting a few good 
fires upon them in flank, we should have sent these brave. 
Virginians to the right about.” > 

“Ay! and that in double quick time,” cried the Colonel, 
making the other leg follotv its companion; “then it was 
necessary to rout the guides, you know, and the move- 
ment gave them the best possible opportunity to charge.” 

“Yes,” said the other, sending the second slipper after 
the first; “and this Major Dunwoodie never overlooks an 
advantage.” 

“I think if we had the thing to do over again,” con- 
tinued the Colonel, raising himself on his feet, “we might 
alter the case very materially, though the chief thing the 
rebels have now to boast of is my capture: they were re- 
pulsed, you saw, in their attempt to drive us from the I 
wood.” ' I 

“At least they w^ould have been, had they made an 
attack,” said the Captain, throwing the rest of his clothes 
within re^ch of the Colonel. 

“Why that is the same thing,” returned Wellmere, be- 
ginning to dress himself; “to assume such an attitude as to 
intimidate your enemy, is the chief art of war.” ^ 

“Doubtless, then, you may remember in one of their 
charges t^iey were completely routed.” 

“True — true,” cried the Colonel, with animation: “had I 
been there to have improved that advantage, we might 
have turned the table on the Yankees;” saying which, he • 
displayed still greater animation in completing his toilette; 
and he was soon prepared to make his appearance, fully 
restored to his own good opinion, and fairly persuaded that 
his capture was owing to casualties, absolutely beyond the 
control of man. 

The knowledge that Colonel Wellmere was to be a guest 
at the table, in no degree diminished the preparations 
which were already making for the banquet; and Sarah, 
after receiving the compliments of the gentleman, and 
making many kind enquiries after the state of his wounds. 


THE SPY 


183 ' 


proceeded in person to lend her counsel and taste to oner 
of those laboured entertainments, which, at that day, were 
so frequent in country life, and which are not entirely 
banished from our, domestic economy at the present 
moment. 


tn-. 




3 


\ 



CHAPTER XIII 


I will stand to and feed, 

Although my last. 

Tempest. 

The savour of preparation which had been noticed by 
Captain Lawton, began to increase within the walls of the 
cottage: certain sweet-smelling odours, that arose from the 
subterranean territories of Caesar, gave to the trooper the 
most pleasing assurances that his olfactory nerves, which 
on such occasions were as acute as his eyes on others, had 
faithfully performed their duty; and for the benefit of 
enjoying the passing sweets as they arose, the dragoon so 
placed himself at a window of the building, that not a 
vapour charged with the spices of the east, could exhale 
on its passage to the clouds, without'first giving its incense 
to his nose. Lawton, however, by no means indulged 
himself in this comfortable arrangement, without first 
making such preparations to do meet honour to the feast 
as his scanty wardrobe would allow. The uniform of his 
corps was always a passport to the best tables, and this, 
though somewhat tarnished by faithful service and un- 
ceremonious usage, was properly brushed and decked out 
for the occasion. His head, which nature had ornamented 
with the blackness of a crow, now shone with the white- 
ness of snow; and his bony hand, that so well became the 
sabre, peered from beneath a ruffle with something like 
maiden coyness. The improvements of the dragoon went 
no further, excepting that his boots shone with more than 
holiday splendour, and his spurs glittered in the rays of 
the sun, as became the pure ore of which they were com- 
posed. 

Caesar moved through the apartments with a .face charged 
with an importance exceeding even that which had accom- 


184 


THE SPY 


IS5 


panied him in his melancholy task of the morning. The 
black had early returned from the errand on which he had 
been despatched by the pedler, and, obedient to the com- 
mands of his mistress, promptly appeared to give his 
services, where his allegiance was due; so serious, indeed, 
was his duty now becoming, that it was only at odd mo- 
ments he was enabled to impart to his sable brother, who 
had been sent in attendance on Miss Singleton to the 
Locusts, any portion of the wonderful incidents of the 
momentous night he had so lately passed. By ingeniously 
using, however, such occasions as accidentally offered, 
CaBsar communicated so many of the heads of his tale, as 
served to open the eyes of his visitor to their fullest width. 
The gusto for the marvellous was innate, in these sable 
worthies; and Miss Peyton found it necessary to inter- 
pose her authority, in order to postpone the residue of the 
history to a more befitting opportunity. 

*‘Ah! Miss Jinnett,” said Caesar, shaking his head, and 
looking all that he expressed, “ ’twas awful to see Johnny 
Birch walk on a feet when he lie dead!” 

This concluded the conversation; though the black 
promised himself the satisfaction, and did not fail to enjoy 
it, of having many a good gossip on the solemn subject at 
a future period. 

The ghost thus happily laid, the department of Miss 
'Peyton fiourished; and by the time the afternoon’s sun had 
travelled a two hours’ journey from the meridian, the 
formal procession from the kitchen to the parlour com- 
menced, under the auspices of Caesar, who led the van, 
supporting a turkey on the palms of his withered hands, 
with the dexterity of a balance-master. 

Next followed the. servant of Captain Lawton, bearing, 
as he marched stiffly, and walking wide, as if allowing 
room for his steed, a ham of true Virginian fiavour; a 
present from the spinster’s brother in Accomac. The sup- 
porter of this savoury dish kept his eye on his trust with 
military precision; and by the time he reached his desti- 
nation, it might be difficult to say which contained the 
most juice, his own mouth or the Accomac bacon. 


i86 


THE SPY 


Third in the line was to be seen the valet of Colonel Well- 
1 , .^ere, who carried in either hand chickens fricasseed, and 
oyster patties. 

After him marched the attendant of Dr. Sitgreaves, who 
nad instinctively seized an enormous tureen, as most re- 
sembling matters he understood, and followed on in place, 
until the steams of the soup so completely bedimmed the - 
spectacles he wore, as a badge of office, that, on arriving 
at the scene of action, he was compelled to deposit his 
freight on the floor, until, by removing the glasses, he 
could see his way through the piles of reserved china and 
plate-warmers. 

Next followed another trooper, whose duty it was to 
attend on Captain Singleton; and, as if apportioning his 
appetite to the feeble state of his master, he had contented 
himself with conveying a pair of ducks, roasted, until their 
tempting fragrance began to make him repent his having 
so lately demolished a breakfast that had been provided 
for his master’s sister, with another prepared for himself. 

The white boy, who belonged to the house, brought up 
the rear, groaning under the load of sundry dishes o^ vege- 
tables, that the cook, by way of climax, had unwittingly 
heaped on him. 

But this was far from all of the preparations for that 
day’s feast. Ccesar had no sooner deposited his bird, 
which, but the week before, had been flying amongst the 
highlands of Dutchess, little dreaming of so soon heading 
such a goodly assemblage, than he turned mechanically on 
his heel and took up his line of march again for the kitchen. 
In this evolution the black was imitated by his companions 
in succession, and -Another procession to the parlour fol- 
lo ' ed in the same order. By this admirable arrangement, 
whole flocks of pigeons, certain bevies of quails, shoals of 
flat-fish, bass, and sundry woodcock, found their way into 
the presence of the company. 

A third attack brought suitable quantities of potatoes, 
onions, beets, cold-slaw, rice, and all the other minutiae of 
a p-oodly dinner. 

The board now fairly groaned with American profusion; ' 


THE SPY 


187 


and Caesar, glancing his eye over the show with a most 
approving conscience, after re-adjusting every dish that 
had not been placed on the table with his own hands, pro- 
ceeded to acquaint the mistress of the revels that his task 
was happily accomplished. 

Some half-hour before the culinary array just recorded 
took place, all the ladies disappeared, much in the same 
unaccountable manner that swallows flee the approach of 
winter. But the spring-time of their return had arrived, and 
the whole party were collected in an apartment that, in con- 
sequence of its containing no side-table, and being furnished 
with a chintz coverlet settee, was termed a withdrawing- 
room. 

The kind-hearted spinster had deemed the occasion 
worthy, not only of extraordinary preparations in the 
culinary department, but had seen proper to deck her own 
person in garments suited to the guests whom it was now 
her happiness to entertain. 

On her head Miss Peyton wore a cap of exquisite lawn, 
which was ornamented in front with a broad border of lace, 
that spread from the face in such a manner as to admit of 
a display of artificial flowers, clustered in a group on the 
summit of her fine forehead. 

The colour of her hair was lost in the profusion of powder 
with which it was covered; but a slight curling of the 
extremities in some degree relieved the formality of its 
arrangement, and gave a look of feminine softness to the 
features. 

Her dress was a rich, heavy silk, of violet colour, cut low 
around the bust, with a stomacher of the same material, 
that fitted close to the figure, and exhibited the form, 
from the shoulders to the waist, in its true proportions. 
Below, the dress was full, and sufficiently showed that 
parsimony in attire was not a foible of the day. A small 
loop displayed the beauty of the fabric to advantage, and 
aided in giving majesty to the figure. 

The tall stature of the lady was heightened by shoes of 
the same material with the dress, whose heels added more 
than an inch to the liberality of nature. 




188 


THE SPY 


The sleeves were short, and close to the limb, until they 
fell off at the elbows in large ruffles, that hung in rich pro- 
fusion from the arm when extended; and duplicates and 
triplicates of lawn, trimmed with Dresden lace, lent their 
aid in giving delicacy to a hand and arm that yet retained 
their whiteness and symmetry. A treble row of large 
pearls closely encircled her throat; and a handkerchief of 
lace partially concealed that part of the person that the | 
silk had left exposed, but which the experience of forty i 
years had warned Miss Peyton should now be veiled. ! 

Thus attired, and standing erect with the lofty grace that ' 
distinguished the manners of that day, the maiden would , 
have looked into nothingness a bevy of moderh belles. 

The taste of Sarah had kept even pace with the decora- 
tions of her aunt; and a dress, differing in no respect from * 
the one just described, but in material and tints, exhibited 
her imposing form to equal advantage. The satin of her 
robe was of a pale bluish colour. Twenty years did not, 
however, require the screen that was prudent in forty, and ' 
nothing but an envious border of exquisite lace hid, in 
some measure, what the satin left exposed to view. The 
upper part of the bust, and the fine fall of the shoulders, ‘ 
were blazing in all their native beauty, and, like the aunt, 
the throat was ornamented by a treble row of pearls, to 
correspond with which were rings of the same quality in ' 
the ears. The head was without a cap, and the hair drawn ; 
up from the countenance so as to give to the eye all the 
loveliness of a forehead as polished as marble and as white 
as snow. A few straggling curls fell gracefully on the neck, , 
and a bouquet of artificial flowers was also placed, like a 
coronet, over her brow. ! 

Miss Singleton had resigned her brother to the advice of , 
Dr. Sitgreaves, who had succeeded in getting his patient : 
into a deep sleep, after quieting certain feverish symptoms ■ 
that followed the agitation of the interview. The sister ' 
was persuaded, by the observant mistress of the mansion, 
to make one of the party, and she sat by the side of Sarah, 
different but little in appearance from that lady, except in fi 
refusing the use of powder on her raven locks, and that 


i 


THE SPY 


189 


her unusually high forehead, and large, brilliant eyes, gave 
an expression of thoughtfulness to her features, that was 
possibly heightened by the paleness of her cheek. 

Last and least, but not the most unlovely, in this display 
of female charms, was the youngest daughter of Mr. Whar- 
ton. Frances, we have already mentioned, left the city 
before she had attained to the age of fashionable woman- 
hood. A few adventurous spirits were already beginning 
to make inroads in those customs which had so long 
invaded the comforts of the fair sex; and the youthful 
girl had ventured to trust her beauty to the height which 
nature had bestowed. This was but little, but that little 
was a masterpiece. Frances several times had determined,, 
in the course of the morning, to bestow more than usual 
pains in the decoration of her person. Each time, in suc- 
cession, as she formed this resolution, she spent a few 
minutes in looking earnestly towards the north, and then 
she as invariably changed it. 

At the appointed hour, our heroine appeared in the 
drawing-room, clothed in a robe of pale blue silk, of a cut 
and fashion much like that worn by her sister. Her hair 
was left to the wild curls of nature, its exuberance being 
confined to the crown of her head by a long, low comb,, 
made of light tortoise-shell; a colour barely distinguishable 
in the golden hue of her tresses. Her dress was without a 
plait or a wrinkle, and fitted the form with an exactitude 
that might lead one to imagine the arch girl more than 
suspected the beauties it displayed. A tucker of rich Dres- 
den lace softened the contour of the figure. Her head was 
without ornament; but around her throat was a necklace 
of gold clasped in front with a rich cornelian. 

Once, and once only, as they moved towards the repast,, 
did Lawton see a foot thrust itself from beneath the folds 
of het robe, and exhibit its little beauties encased in a 
slipper of blue silk, clasped close to the shape by a buckle 
of brilliants. The trooper caught himself sighing as he 
thought, though it was good for nothing in the stirrup, how 
enchantingly it would grace a minuet. 

As the black appeared on the threshold of the room. 


190 


THE SPY 


making a low reverence, which has been interpreted for 
some centuries into “dinner waits,” Mr. Wharton, clad in 
a dress of drab, bedecked with enormous buttons, advanced 
formally to Miss Singleton, and bending his powdered 
head nearly to the level of the hand he extended, received 
hers in return. 

f / 

Dr. Sitgreaves offered the same homage to Miss Peyton 
and met with equal favour; the lady fir&t pausing to draw 
on her gloves. 

Colonel Wellmere was honoured with a smile from Sarah, 
while performing a similar duty; and Frances gave the 
ends of her taper fingers to Captain Lawton with maiden 
bashfulness. 

Much time, and some trouble, were expended before the 
whole party were, to the great joy of Cassar, comfortably 
arranged around the table, with proper attention to all 
points of etiquette and precedence. The black well knew 
the viands were not improving; and though abundantly 
able to comprehend the disadvantage of eating a cold din- 
ner, it greatly exceeded his powers of philosophy to weigh 
all the latent consequences to society which depend on 
social order. 

For the first ten minutes all but the Captain of dragoons 
found themselves in a situation much to their liking. Even 
Lawton would have been perfectly happy, had not excess 
of civility on the part of his host and Miss Jeanette Peyton, .. 
kept him from the more agreeable occupation of tasting 
dishes he did want, in order to decline those he did not. . 
At length, however, the repast was fairly commenced, and a ^ 
devoted application to the viands was more eloquent than - 
a thousand words in favour of Dinah’s skill. 

Next came drinking with the ladies; but as the wine,' 
was excellent, and the glasses ample, the trooper bore this 
interruption with consummate good nature. Nay, so fear- ^ 
ful was .he of giving offence, and of omitting any of the 
nicer points of punctilio, that having commenced this cour-.., 
tesy with the lady who sat next him, he persevered until j 
not one of his fair companions could, with justice, reproach^ 
him with partiality in this particular. I 


THE SPY 


191 


Long abstemiousness from any thing like generous wine 
might plead the excuse of Captain Lawton, especially when 
exposed to so strong a temptation as that now before him. 
Mr. Wharton had been one of a set of politicians in New 
York, whose principal exploits before the' war had been to 
assemble, and pass sage opinions on the signs of the times, 
under the inspiration of certain liquor made from a grape 
that grew on the south side of the island of Madeira, and 
which found its way into the colonies of North America 
through the medium of the West Indies, sojourning awhile 
in the W’^estern Archipelago, by way of proving the virtues 
of the climate. A large supply, of this cordial had been 
drawn from his storehouse in the city, and some of it now 
sparkled in a bottle before the Captain, blushing in the 
rays of the sun, which w'ere passing obliquely through it, 
like amber. 

Though the meat and vegetables, had made their entrance 
with perfect order and propriety, their exeunt was effected 
much in the manner of a retreat of militia. The point was 
to clear the board something after the fabled practice of 
the harpies, and by dint of scrambling, tossing, breaking, 
and spilling, the remnants of the overflowing repast dis- 
appeared. And now another series of processions com- 
menced, by virtue of which, a goodly display of pastry, with 
its usual accompaniments, garnished the table. 

Mr. Wharton poured out a glass of wine for the lady who 
sat on his right hand, and, pushing the bottle to a guest, 
said, with a low bow — 

“We are to be honoured with a toast from Miss Single- 
ton.” 

Although there was nothing more in this movement than 
occurred every day on such occasions, yet the lady trembled, 
coloured, and grew pale again, seemingly endeavouring to 
rally her thoughts, until, by her agitation, she had excited 
the interest of the whole party; when, by an effort, and in 
a manner as if she had striven in vain to think of another, 
Isabella said, faintly — 

“Major Dunwoodie.” 

■ The health was drunk cheerfully by all but Colonel Well- 


192 


THE SPY 


} 

mere, who wet his lips, and drew figures on the table with 
some of the liquor he had spilt. 

At length Colonel Wellmere broke silence by saying aloud 
to Captain Lawton — ^ 

“I suppose, sir, this Mr. Dunwoodie will receive promo- ^ 
tion in the rebel army, for the advantage my misfortune ^ 
gave him over my command.” | 

The trooper had supplied the wants of nature to his J 
perfect satisfaction; and, perhaps, with the exception of | 
Washington and his immediate commander, there was no | 
mortal whose displeasure he regarded a tittle. First help- 
ing himself, therefore, to a little of his favourite bottle, he ? 
replied with admirable coolness — t 

“Colonel Wellmere, your pardon; Major Dunwoodie owes ^ 
his allegiance to the confederated states of North America, 
and where he owes it, he pays it. Such a man is no rebel, ji 
Promoted I hope he may be, both because he deserves it, i 
and because I am next in rank in the corps; and I know J 
not what you call a misfortune, unless you deem meeting 5 
the Virginia horse as such.” 

“We will not differ about terms, sir,” said the Colonel, | 
haughtily; “I spoke as duty to my sovereign prompted: ^ 
but do you not call the loss of a commander a misfortune 
to a party?” . 

“It certainly may be so,” said the trooper, with emphasis. 
“Miss Peyton, will you favour us with a toast?” cried the ’ 
master of the house, anxious to stop this dialogue. 

The lady bowed her head with dignity, as she named 
“General Montrose ; ” and the long-absent bloom stole lightly i 
over her features. 

“There is no term more doubtful than that word misfor- ; 
tune,” said the surgeon, regardless of the nice manoeuvres . 
of the host; “some deem one thing a misfortune, others: 
its opposite: misfortune begets misfortune: life is a mis-;i 
fortune, for it may be the means of enduring misfortune ; 
and death is a misfortune, as it abridges the enjoyments of 5 
life.” 1 

“It is a misfortune that our mess has no such wine as* 
this,” interrupted the trooper. 


THE SPY 


193 


“We will pledge you a sentiment in it, sir, as it seems to 
suit your taste,” said Mr. Wharton. 

Lawton filled to the brim, and drank, “A speedy peace, or 
a stirring war.” 

“I drink your toast. Captain Lawton, though I greatly 
distrust your construction of activity,” said the surgeon. 

“In my poor judgment, cavalry should be kept in the rear, 
to improve a victory, and not sent in front to gain it. Such > 
may be said to be their natural occupation, if the term 
can be used in reference to so artificial a body; for all 
history shows that the horse have done most when properly 
held in reserve.” 

This dissertation, uttered in a sufficiently didactic man- 
ner, was a hint that Miss Peyton did not neglect. She 
arose and retired, followed by her jimiors. 

Nearly at the same moment, Mr. Wharton and his son 
made an apology for their absence, which was required on 
account of the death of a near neighbour, and withdrew. 

The retreat of the ladies was the signal for the appear- 
ance of the surgeon’s segar,. which, being established in a 
corner of his mouth, in a certain knowing way, caused not 
the slightest interruption to his discourse — 

“If any thing can sweeten captivity and wounds, it must 
be the happiness of suffering in the society of the ladies 
who have left us,” gallantly observed the Colonel, as he 
resumed his seat after closing the door. 

“Sympathy and kindness have their influence on the 
human system,” returned the surgeon, knocking the ashes 
from his segar, with the tip of a little finger, in the manner 
of an adept. “The connection is intimate between the 
moral and physical feelings; but still, to accomplish a cure, 
and restore nature to the healthy tone it has lost from 
disease or accident, requires more than can flow from un- 
guided sympathies. In such cases, the lights” — the surgeon 
accidentally caught the eye of the trooper, and he paused. 
Taking two or three hasty puffs, he essayed to finish the 
sentence — “In such cases, the knowledge that flows from 
the lights — ” 


194 


THE SPY 


“You were saying, sir — ” said Colonel Wellmere, sipping | 
his wune — 

“The purport of my remark went to say,” continued Sit- : 
greaves, turning his back on Lawton, “that a bread poultice \ 
would not set a broken arm,” j 

“More is the pity,” cried the trooper, “for next to eating. < 
the nourishment could not be more innocently applied.” 

“To you. Colonel Wellmere,” said the surgeon, “as a man 
of education, I can with safety appeal.” The Colonel bowed. 
“You must have observed the dreadful havoc made in your 
ranks by the men who were led by this gentleman;” the 
Colonel looked grave, again; “how, when blows lighted on 
their frames, life was invariably extinguished, beyond all 
hope of scientific reparation: how certain yawning wounds 
were infiicted, that must set at defiance the art of the most 
experienced practitioner; now,- sir, to you I triumphantly 
appeal, therefore, to know whether your detachment would 
not have been as effectually defeated, if the men had all 
lost a right arm, for instance, as if they had all lost their 
heads.” | 

“The triumph of your appeal is somewhat hasty, sir,” ! 
said Wellmere. I 

“Is the cause of liberty advanced a step by such injudi- : 
cions harshness in the field?” continued the surgeon, bent 
on the favourite principle of his life. 

“I am yet to learn that the cause of liberty is in any i 
manner advanced by the services of any gentleman in the 
rebel army,” rejoined the Colonel. 

“Not liberty! Good God, for what then are we con- . 
tending?” 

“Slavery, sir; yes, even slavery; you are putting the 
tyranny of a mob on the throne of a kind and lenient 
"prince; where is the consistency of your boasted liberty?” 

“Consistency!” repeated the surgeon, looking about him 
a little wildly, at hearing such sweeping charges against a 
cause he had so long thought holy. 

“Ay, sir, your consistency. Your congress of sages have 
published a manifesto, wherein they set forth the equality 
of political rights.” 


THE SPY 


195 


“ ’Tis true, and it is done most ably.” 

‘T say nothing of its ability; but if true, why not set 
your slaves at liberty?” This argument, which is thought 
by most of the Colonel’s countrymen a triumphant answer 
to a thousand eloquent facts, lost none of its weight by the 
manner in which it was uttered. 

Every American feels humbled at the necessity of vindi- 
cating his country from the apparent inconsistency and 
injustice of the laws alluded to. His feelings are much like 
those of an honourable man who is compelled to exonerate 
himself from a disgraceful charge, although he may know 
the accusation to be false. At the bottom, Sitgreaves had 
much good sense, and thus called on, he took up the cudgels 
of argument in downright earnest. r 

“We deem it a liberty to have the deciding voice in the 
councils by which we are governed. We think it a hardship 
to be ruled by the king of a people who live at a distance 
of three thousand miles, and who cannot, and who do not, 
feel a single political interest in common with ourselves. 
I say nothing of oppression; the child was of age, and was 
entitled to the privileges of majority. In such cases, there 
is but one tribunal to which to appeal for a nation’s rights — 
it is power, and we now make the appeal.” 

“Such doctrines may suit your present purposes,” said 
Wellmere, with a sneer; “but I apprehend it is opposed to 
all the opinions and practices of civilised nations.” 

“It is in conformity with the practices of all nations,” 
said the surgeon, returning the nod and smile of Lawton, 
who enjoyed the good sense of his comrade as much , as he 
disliked what he called “his medical talk.” “Who would 
be ruled when he can rule? the only rational ground to 
take is, that every community has a right to govern itself, 
so that in no manner it violates the laws of God.” 

“And is holding your fellow-creatures in bondage in con- 
formity to those laws?” asked the Colonel, impressively. 

The surgeon took another glass, and hemming once, 
returned to the combat. 

“Sir,” said he, “slavery is of very ancient origin, and it 
seems to have been confined to no particular religion or 


196 


THE SPY 


form of government; every nation of civilised Europe does, 
or has held their fellow-creatures in this kind of duresse:' 

“You will except Great Britain, sir,” cried the Colonel, 
proudly. 

“No, sir,” continued the surgeon, confidently, feeling that 
he was now carrying the war out of his own country; “I 
cannot except Great Britain. It was her children, her ships, 
and her laws, that first introduced the practice into these 
states; and on her institutions the judgment must fall. 
There is not a foot of ground belonging to England, in 
which a negro would be useful, that has not its slave. 
England herself has none, but England is overflowing with 
physical force, a part of which she is obliged to maintain 
in the shape of paupers. The same is true of Prance, and 
most other European countries. So long as we were content 
to remain colonies, nothing was said of our system of 
domestic slavf'ry; but now, when we are resolute to obtain 
as much freedom as the vicious system of metropolitan rule 
has left us, that which is England’s gift has become our 
reproach. Will your master liberate the slaves of his sub- 
jects should he succeed in subduing the new states, or will 
he condemn the whites to the same servitude as that in 
which he has been so long content to see the blacks? It is 
true, we continue the practice, but we must come gradually 
to the remedy, or create an evil greater than that which 
we endure at present: doubtless, as we advance, the manu- 
mission of our slaves will accompany us, until happily these 
fair regions shall exist, without a single image of the 
Creator that is held in a state which disqualifies him to 
judge of that Creator’s goodness.” 

It will be remembered that Dr. Sitgreaves spoke forty 
years ago, and Wellmere was unable to contradict his 
prophetic assertion. 

Finding the subject getting to be knotty, the Englishman 
retired to the apartment in which the ladies had assembled; 
ahd, seated by the side of Sarah, he found a more pleasing 
employment in relating the events of fashionable life in the 
metropolis, and in recalling the thousand little anecdotes of 
their former associates. Miss Peyton was a pleased listener. 


THE SPY 


197 - 


as she dispensed the bounties of the tea-table, and Sarah 
frequently bowed her blushing countenance to her needle- 
work, as her face glowed at the flattering remarks of her 
companion. 

The dialogue we have related established a perfect truce 
between* the surgeon and his comrade; and the former 
having paid a visit to Singleton, they took their leave of 
the ladies, and mounted; the former to visit the wounded 
at the encampment, and the latter to rejoin his troop. But 
their movements were arrested at the gate by an occurrence 
that we shall relate in the next chapter. 


CHAPTER XIV 


I see no more those white locks thinly spread 
Round the bald polish of that honour’d head; 4 

No more that meek, that suppliant look in prayer, 1 , 
Nor that pure faith that gave it force, are there; ; ; 

But he is blest, and I lament no more, 
wise good man, contented to be poor. 

Crabbe. 

We have glready said, that the customs of America leave i 
the dead but a short time in the sight of the mourners; and I 
the necessity of providing for his own safety had compelled j 
the pedler to abridge even this brief space. In the confu- i 
sion and agitation produced by the events we have recorded, 
the death of the elder Birch had occurred unnoticed; but a ! 
sufficient number of the immediate neighbours were hastily ' 
collected, and the ordinary rites of sepulture were now^ 
about to be paid to the deceased. It was the approach of i 
this humble procession that arrested the movements of the . 
trooper and his comrade. Four men supported the body 
on a rude bier; and four others walked in advance, ready i 
to relieve their friends from their burden. The pedler ' 
walked next the coffin, and by his side moved Katy Haynes, ’ 
with a most determined aspect of wo, and next to the 
mourners came Mr. Wharton and the English Captain, 
Two or three old men and women, with a few straggling 
boys, . brought up the rear. Captain Lawton sat in his 
saddle, in rigid silence, until the bearers came opposite to 
his position, and then, for the first time, Harvey raised his 
eyes from the ground, and saw the enemy that he dreaded 
so near him. The first impulse of the pedler was certainly 
flight; but recovering his recollection, he fixed his eye on 
the coffin of his parent, and passed the dragoon with a firm 
step but swelling heart. The trooper slowly lifted his cap. 
and continued uncovered until Mr. Wharton and his son 


198 


THE SPY 


199 


liad moved by, when, accompanied by the surgeon, he rode 
leisurely in the rear, maintaining an inflexible silence. 

Caesar emerged from the cellar kitchen of the cottage, 
and with a face of settled solemnity, added himself to the 
number of the followers of the funeral, though with an 
humble mien, and at a most respectful distance from the 
horsemen. The old negro had placed around his arm, a 
little above the elbow, a napkin of unsullied whiteness, it 
being the only time since his departure from the city that 
he had enjoyed an opportunity of exhibiting himself in the 
garniture of servile mourning. He was a great lover of 
propriety, and had been d little stimulated to this display 
by a desire to show his sable friend from Georgia all the 
decencies of a New York funeral; and the ebullition of his 
zeal went off very well, producing no other result than a 
mild lecture from Miss Peyton at his return, on the fitness 
of things. The attendance of the black was thought well 
enough in itself; but the napkin was deemed a superfluous 
exhibition of ceremony, at the funeral of a man who had 
performed all the menial offices in his own person. 

The grave-yard was an enclosure on the grounds of Mr. 
Wharton, which had been fenced with stone, and set apart 
for the purpose, by that gentleman, some years before. 
It was not, however, intended as a burial-place for any of 
his own family. Until the fire, which raged as the British 
troops took possession of New York, had laid Trinity in 
ashes, a goodly gilded tablet on its walls proclaimed the 
virtues of his deceased parents, and beneath a flag of 
marble, in one of the aisles of the church, their bones w'ere 
left to moulder in aristocratical repose. Captain Lawton 
made a movement as if he was disposed to follow the pro- 
cession, when it left the highway, to enter the field which 
contained the graves of the humble dead, but he was recalled 
to recollection by a hint from his companion that he was 
taking the wrong, road. 

“Of all the various methods which have been adopted by 
man for the disposal of his earthly remains, which do you 
prefer. Captain Lawton?” said the surgeon, as they sepa- 
rated from the little procession; “in some countries the 


200 


THE SPY 


body is exposed to be devoured bj'^ wild beasts; in others 
it is suspended in the air to exhale its substance in the 
manner of decomposition; in other regions it is consumed 
on the funeral pile, and, again, it is inhumed in the bowels 
of the earth; every "people have their own particular 
fashion, and to which do you give the preference?” 

“All are agreeable,” said the trooper, following the group 
they had left with his eyes; “though the speediest inter- 
ments give the cleanest fields. Of which are you an 
admirer?” 

“The last, as practised by ourselves, for the other three 
are destructive of all the oppoirtunities for dissection ; 
whereas, in the last, the coffin can lie .in peaceful decency, 
while the remains are made to subserve the useful purposes 
of science. Ah! Captain Lawton, I enjoy comparatively but 
few opportunities of such a nature, to what I expected on 
entering the army.” 

“To what may these pleasures numerically amourtt in a 
year?” said the Captain, withdrawing his gaze from the 
grave-yard. 

“Within a dozen, upon my honour; my best picking is 
when the corps is detached ; for when we are with the main 
army, there are so many boys to be satisfied, that I seldom 
get a good subject. Those youngsters are as wasteful as 
prodigals, and as greedy as vultures.” 

“A dozen!” echobd the trooper, in surprise; “why I fur- 
nish you that number with my own hands.” 

“Ah! Jack,” returned the doctor, approaching the subject 
with great tenderness of manner, “it is seldom I can do 
any thing with your patients; you disfigure them wofully; 
believe me, John, when I tell you as a friend that your 
system is all wrong; you unnecessarily destroy life, and 
then you injure the body so that it is unfit for the only 
use that can be made of a dead man.” 

The trooper ' maintained a silence, which he thought 
would be the most probable means of preserving peace 
between them; and the surgeon, turning his head from 
taking a last look at the burial, as they rode round the 


THE SPY 


201 


foot of the hill that shut the valley from their sight, con- 
tinued with a suppressed sigh — 

“One might get a natural death from that grave-yard 
to-night, if there was but time and opportunity! the patient 
must be the father of the lady we saw this morning.” 

“The petticoat doctor! she with the Aurora Borealis 
complexion,” said the trooper, with a smile, that began to 
cause uneasiness to his companion; “but the lady was not 
the gentleman’s daughter, only his medico-petticoat attend- 
ant; and the Harvey, whose name was made to rhyme with 
every word in her song, is the renowned pedler-spy.” 

“What! he v/ho unhorsed you?” 

“No man ever unhorsed me, Dr. Sitgreaves,” said the 
dragoon, gravely; “I fell by a mischance of Roanoke; 
rider and beast kissed the earth together.” 

“A warm embrace, from the love spots it left on your 
cuticle; ’tis a thousand pities that you cannot find where 
the tattling rascal lies hid.” 

“He followed his father’s body.” 

“And you let him pass!” cried the surgeon, checking his 
horse; “let us return immediately and take him; tomorrow 
you shall have him hanged. Jack, — and, damn him, I’ll 
dissect him!” 

“Softly, softly, my dear Archibald, would you arrest a 
man while paying the last offices to a dead father? Leave 
him to me, and I pledge myself he shall have justice.” 

The doctor muttered his dissatisfaction at any postpone- 
ment of vengeance, but he was compelled to acquiesce, from 
a regard to his reputation for propriety; and they continued 
their ride to the quarters of the corps, engaged in various 
discussions concerning the welfare of the human body. 

Birch supported the grave and collected manner, that was 
thought becoming in a male mourner on such occasions, and 
to Katy was left the part of exhibiting the tenderness of the 
softer sex. There are some people, w^ose feelings are of 
such a nature, that they cannot weep unless it be in proper 
company, and the spinster was a good deal addicted to this 
congregational virtue. After casting her eyes round the 


202 


-THE SPY 


small assemblage, the housekeeper found the countenances 
of the few females, who were present, fixed on her in solemn 
expectation, and the effect was instantaneous; the maiden 
really wept, and she gained no inconsiderate sympathy, and , 
some reputation for a tender heart, from the spectators. 
The muscles of the pedler’s face were seen to move, and as r 
the first clod' of earth fell on the tenement of his father, . 
sending up that dull, hollow sound, that speaks so eloquently 
the mortality of man, his whole frame was for an instant 
convulsed. He bent his body down, as if in pain, his fingers 
worked while the hands hung lifeless by his side, and there 
was an expression in his countenance that seemed to an- 
nounce a writhing of the soul; but it was not unresisted, 
and it was transient. He stood erect, drew a long breath, 
and looked around him with an elevated face, that even 
seemed to smile with a consciousness of having obtained 
the mastery. The grave was soon filled; a rough stone, 
placed at either extremity, marked its position, and the 
turf, whose faded vegetation was adapted to the fortunes 
of the deceased, covered the little hillock with the last 
office of seemliness. This office ended, the neighbours, who. 
had officiously pressed forward to offer their services in 
performing this solemn duty, paused, and lifting their hats, 
stood looking towards the mourner, who new felt himself ; 
to be really alone in the world. Uncovering his head also, ? 
the pedler hesitated a moment, to gather energy.^ and spoke. 

“My friends and neighbours,” he said, “I thank you for - j 
assisting'me to bury ray dead out of my sight.” }l 

A solemn pause succeeded the customary address, and | 
the group dispersed in silence, some few walking with the|| 
mourners back to their own habitation, but respectfully! 
leaving them at its entrance. The pedler and Katy were* 
followed into the building by one man, however, who was 1 
well known to the surrounding country by the significant # 
term of “a speculator.” '*'Katy saw^ him enter, with a heart! 
that palpitated with dreadful forebodings, but HarveyM 
civilly handed him a chair, and evidently was prepared*! 
for the visit. 3 

The pedler went to the door, and, taking a caution^ 


THE SPY 


203 


glance about the valley, quickly returned, and commenced 
the following dialogue — 

“The sun has just left the top of the eastern hill; my 
time presses me: here is the deed for the house and lot; 
every thing is done according to law.” 

The other took the paper, and conned its contents with a 
deliberation that proceeded partly from his caution, and 
partly from the unlucky circumstance of his education hav- 
ing been much neglected v/hen a youth. The time occupied 
in this tedious examination was employed by Harvey in 
gathering together certain articles, which he intended to 
include in the stores that were to leave the habitation with 
himself. Katy had already enquired of the pedler, whether 
the deceased had left a will; and she saw the Bible placed 
in the bottom of a new pack, which she had made for his 
accommodation, with a most stoical indifference; but as the 
six silver spoons were laid carefully by its side, a sudden 
twinge of her conscience objected to such a palpable waste 
of property, and she broke silence. 

“When you marry, Harvey, you may miss those spoons.” 

“I never shall marry.” 

“Well, if you don’t, there’s no occasion to make rash 
promises, even to yourself. One never knows what one 
may do, in such a case. I should like to know, of what use 
so many spoons can be to a single man: for my part, I 
think it is a duty for every man who is well provided, to 
have a wife and family to maintain.” 

At the time when Katy expressed this sentiment, the 
fortune of women in her class of life consisted of a cow, a 
bed, the labours of their own hands in the shape of divers 
pillow-cases, blankets, and sheets, with, where fortune was 
unusually kind, a half-dozen silver spoons. The spinster 
herself had obtained all the other necessaries by her own 
industry and prudence, and it can easily be imagined that 
she saw the articles she had long counted her own, vanish 
in the enormous pack, with a dissatisfaction that was in no 
degree diminished by the declaration that had preceded the 
act. Harvey, however, disregarded her opinions and feel- 
ings, and continued his employment of filling the pack. 


204 


THE SPY 


which soon grew to something like the ordinary size of the ! 
pedler’s burden. | 

“I’m rather timersome about this conveyance,” said the 
pm’chaser, having at length waded through the covenants ] 
of the deed. j 

“Why so?” i 

“I’m afraid it won’t stand good in law. I know that two i 
of the neighbours leave home to-morrow morning, to have 
the place entered for confistication; and if I should give 
forty pounds, and lose it all, ’twould be a dead pull-back 
to me.” • i 

“They can only take my right,” said the pedler; “pay 
me two hundred dollars, and the house is yours: you are a 
well-known Whig, and you at least they won’t trouble.” 
As Harvey spoke, there was a strange bitterness of man- 
ner, mingled with the shrewd care he expressed concerning 
the sale of his property. 

“Say one hundred,, and it is a bargain,” returned the man, 
with a grin that he meant for a good-natured smile. 

“A bargain!” echoed the pedler, in surprise; “I thought] 
the bargain already made.” ! 

“Nothing is a bargain,” said the purchaser, with a j 
chuckle, “until papers are delivered, and the money paid 
in hand.” 

“You have the paper,” 

“Ay, and will keep it, if you will excuse the money; come, 
say one hundred and fifty, and I won’t be hard ; here — here ‘ 
is .iust the money.” I 

The pedler looked from the window, and saw with dismay | 
that the evening was fast advancing, and knew well that he j 
endangered his life by remaining in the dwelling after I 
dark; yet he could not tolerate the idea of being defrauded | 
in this manner, in a bargain that had already been fairly I 
made; he hesitated. | 

“Well,” said the purchaser, rising, “mayhap you can find i 
another man to trade with between this and morning; but, 
if you don’t your title won’t be worth much afterwards.” 

“Take it, Harvey,” said Katy, who felt it impossible to i 
resist a tender like the one before her; for the purchase- 


THE SPY 


205 


money was in English guineas. Her voice roused the 
pedler, and a new idea seemed to strike him. 

‘T agree to^the price,” he said; and, turning to the spin- 
ster, he placed part of the money in her hand, as he con- 
tinued — “had I other means to pay you, I would have lost 
all, rather than have suffered myself to be defraifded of 
part.” 

“You may lose all yet,” muttered the stranger, with a 
.sneer, as he rose and left the building. 

“Yes,” said Katy, following him with her eyes; “he knows 
your failing, Harvey; he thinks with me, now the old 
gentleman is gone, you will want a careful body to take 
care of your concerns.” 

The pedler was busied in making arrangements for his 
departure, and he took no notice of this insinuation, while 
the spinster returned again to the attack. She had lived 
so many years in expectation of a termination to her hopes, 
so different from that which now seemed likely to occur, 
that the idea of separation began to give her more uneasi- 
ness than she had thought herself capable of feeling, about 
a man so destitute and friendless. 

“Have you another house to go to?” enquired Katy. 

“Providence will provide me with a home.” 

“Yes,” said the housekeeper; “but maybe ’twill not be to 
your liking.” 

“The poor must not be difficult.” 

“I’m sure I’m any thing but a difficult body,” cried the 
spinster, very hastily; “but I love to see things becoming, 
and in their places; yet I wouldn’t be hard to persuade to 
leave this place myself. I can’t say I altogether like the 
ways of the people hereabouts.” 

“The valley is lovely,” said the pedler, with fervour, “and 
the people like all the race of man. But to me it matters 
nothing; all places are now alike, and all faces equally 
strange;” as he spoke he dropped the article he was pack- 
ing from his hand, and seated hirftself on a chest, with a 
look of vacant misery. 

“Not so, not so,” -said Katy, shoving her chair nearer to 
the place where the pedler sat; “not so, Harvey, you must 


206 


THE SPY 


know me at least; my face cannot be strange to you, I 
certainly.” ' j 

Birch turned his eyes slowly on her countenance, which ! 
exhibited more of feeling, and less of self, than he had ever ] 
seen there before: he took her hand kindly, and his own | 
features lost some of their painful expression, as he said — \ 

“Yes, good woman, you, at least, are not a stranger to 
me; you may do me partial justice; when others revile me, 
possibly your feelings may lead you to say something in 
my defence.” 

“That I will; that I would!” said Katy, eagerly; “I will 
defend you^ Harvey, to the last drop; let me hear them 
that dare revile you! you say true, Harvey, I am partial 
and just to you; what if you do like the king? I have 
often heard it said he was at the bottom a good man; but 
there’s no religion in the old country, for everybody allows 
the ministers are desperate bad!” 

The pedler paced the floor in evident distress of mind; 
his eye had a look of wildness that Katy had never wit- ; 
nessed before, and his step was measured, with a dignity I 
that appalled the housekeeper. j 

“While my father lived,” murmured Harvey, unable to j 
smother his feelings, “there was one who read my heart; :j 
and oh! what a consolation to return from my secret ; 
marches of danger, and the insults and. wrongs that I 
suffered, to receive his blessing and his praise; but he is 
gone,” he continued, stopping and gazing wildly towards ‘ 
the corner that used to hold the flgure of his parent, “and i 
who is there to do me justice?” 

“Why, Harvey! Harvey!” 

“Yes, there is one who will, who must know me before 
I die! Oh! it is dreadful to die, and leave such a name 
behind me.” 

“Don’t talk of dying, Harvey,” said the spinster, glancing 
her eye around the room, and pushing the wood in the fire 
to obtain a light from the blaze. 

The ebullition of feeling in the pedler was over. It had 
been excited by the events of the past day, and a vivid 
perception of his sufferings. It was not long, however, that 


TH13 SPY 


207 


passion maintained an ascendency over the reason of this 
singular man; and perceiving that the night had already 
thrown an obscurity around"^ objects without doors, he 
hastily threw his pack over his shoulders, and taking Katy 
kindly by the hand, in leave-taking — 

'“It is painful to part with even you, good woman,” he 
said; “but the hour has come, and I must go. What is left 
in the house is yours; to me it could be of no use, and it 
may serve to make you more comfortable. Farewell — we 
shall meet hereafter.” 

^ “In th^ regions of darkness,” cried a voice that caused 
the pedler to sink on the chest from which he had risen in 
despair. 

“Wliat! another pack, Mr. Birch, and so well stuffed so 
soon!” 

“Have you not done evil enough?” cried the pedler, re- 
gaining his firmness, and springing on his feet with 
energy; “is it not enough to harass the last moments of a 
dying man; to impoverish me; what more would you 
have?” 

“Your blood,” said the Skinner, with cool malignity. 

“And for money,” cried Harvey, bitterly; “like the an- 
cient Judas, you would grow rich with the price of blood!” 

“Ay! and a fair price it is, my gentleman; fifty guineas; 
nearly the weight of that scare-crow carcass of yours in 
gold.” 

“Here,” said Katy, promptly; “here are fifteen guineas, 
and these drawers, and this bed, are all mine; if you will 
give Harvey but one hour’s start from the door, they shall 
be yours.” 

“One hour?” said the Skinner, showing his teeth, and 
looking with a longing eye at the money. 

“But a single hour; here, take the money.” 

“Hold!” cried Harvey; “put no faith in the miscreant.” 

“She may do what she pleases with her faith,” said the 
Skinner, with malignant pleasure; “but I have the money 
in good keeping; as for you, Mr. Birch, we will bear your 
insolence, for the fifty guineas that are to pay for your 
gallows.” 


208 


THE SPY 


“Go on,” "said the pedler, proudly; “take me to Major 
Dunwoodie; he, at least, may be kind, although he may be 
just.” 

“I can do better than by marching so far in such dis- 
graceful company; this Mr. Dunwoodie has let one or two 
Tories go at large; but the troop of Captain Lawton is 
quartered some half mile nearer, and his receipt will get 
nie the reward as soon as his Major’s; how relish you the 
idea of supping with Captain Lawton, this evening, Mr. 
Birch?” 

“Give me my money, or set Harvey free,” cried fhe 
spinster in alarm. * 

“Your bribe was not enough, good woman, unless there 
is money in this bed;” thrusting his bayonet through the 
ticking, and ripping it for some distance, he took a mali- 
cious satisfaction in scattering its contents about the room. 

“If,” cried the housekeeper, losing sight of her personal 
danger, in care for her newly-acquired property, “there is 
law in the land, I will be righted!” 

“The law of the neutral ground is the law of the strong- 
est; but your tongue is not as long as my bayonet; you 
had, therefore, best not set them at loggerheads, or you 
might be the loser.” 

A figure stood in the shadow of the door, as if afraid to 
be "seen in the group of Skinners; but a blaze of light, j 
raised by some articles thrown in the fire by his perse- | 
cutors, showed the pedler the face of the purchaser of his 
little domain. Occasionally there was some whispering ( 
between this man and the Skinner nearest him, that in- j 
duced Harvey to suspect he had been the dupe of a con- ^ 
trivance in which that wretch had participated. It was, , 
however, too late to repine; and he followed the party i 
from the house with a firm and collected tread, as if march- \ 
ing to a triumph, and not to a gallows. In passing thi;;ough ^ 
the yard, the leader of the band fell over a billet of wood. |i 
and received a momentary hurt from the fall: exasperated !| 
at the incident, the fellow sprang on his feet, filling the air 
with execrations. 

“The curse of Heaven light on the log!” he exclaimed; ; 


THE SPY 


209 


“the night is too dark for us to move in: throw that brand 
of fire in yon pile of tow, to light up the scene.” 

“Hold!” roared the speculator; “you’ll fire the house.” 

“And see the father,” said the other, hurling the brand 
in the midst of the combustibles. In an instant the build- 
ing was in flames. “Come on; let us move towards the 
heights while we have light to pick our road.” 

“Villain!” cried the exasperated purchaser, “is this your 
friendship — this my reward for kidnapping the pedler?” 

“ ’Twould be wise to move more from the light, if you 
mean to entertain us with abuse, or we may see too well to 
miss our mark,” cried the leader of the gang. The next 
instant he was as good as his threat, but happily missed the 
terrified speculator and equally appalled spinster, who saw 
herself again reduced from comparative wealth to poverty, 
by the blow. Prudence dictated to the pair a speedy re- 
treat; and the next morning, the only remains of the 
dw^elling of khe pedler w^as the huge chimney we have 
already mentioned. 


CHAPTER XV 


/ 




Trifles, light as ' air, 

Are to the jealous confirfnations strong 
As proofs of holy writ. 

Moor of Venice. 

The weather, which had been mild and clear since the ; 
storm, now changed with the suddenness of the American . 
climate. Towards evening the cold blasts poured down 
from the mountains, and flurries of snow plainly indicated 
that the month of November had arrived; a season whose 
temperature varies from the heats of summer to the cold > 
of winter. Frances had stood at the window of her owm j 
apartment, watching the slow progress of the funeral pro- 
cession, with a melancholy that was too deep to be excited 
by the spectacle. There was something in the sad office 
that was in unison with her feelings. As she gazed around, ! 
she saw the trees bending to the force of the wind, that 
swept through the valley with an impetuosity that shook , 
even the buildings; and thev forest, that had so lately 
glittered in the sun with its variegated hues, was fast; 
losing its loveliness, as the leaves were torn from the i 
branches, and were driving irregularly before the eddies | 
of the blast. A few of the southern dragoons, who were; 
patrolling the passes which led to the encampment of the;- 
corps, could be distinguished at a distance on the heights, J 
bending to their pommels' as they faced the keen air which f 
had so lately traversed the great fresh-water lakes, and 
drawing their watch-coats about them in tighter folds. 

Frances witnessed the disappearance of the wooden 
tenement of the deceased, as it was slowly low^ered from 
the light of day; and the sight added to the chilling dreari- 
■ ness of the view. Captain Singleton was sleeping under 
the care of his own man, while his sister had been per- 


210 


1 


THE SPY 


211 


; suaded to take possession of her room, for the purpose of 
obtaining the repose of which her last night’s journeying 
I had robbed her. The apartment of Miss Singleton com- 
i municated with the room occupied by the sisters, through a 
i private door, as well as through the ordinary passage of the 
I house; this door was partly open, and Frances moved 
towards it, with the benevolent intention of ascertaining 
the situation of her guest, when the surprised girl saw her 
whom she had thought to be sleeping, not only awake, but 
employed in a manner that banished all probability of 
present repose. The black tresses, that during the dinner 
had been drawn in close folds over the crown of the head, 
were now loosened and fell in profusion over her shoulders 
and bosom, imparting a slight degree of wildness to her 
countenance; the chilling white of her complexion was 
strongly contrasted with eyes of the deepest black, that 
were fixed in rooted attention on a picture she held in her 
hand. Frances hardly breathed, as she was enabled, by a 
movement of Isabella, to see that it was the figure of a man 
in the well-known dress of the southern horse; but she 
gasped for breath, and instinctively laid her hand on her 
heart to quell its throbbings, as she. thought she. recognised 
the lineaments that were so deeply seated in her own imagi- 
nation. Frances felt she was improperly prying into the 
sacred privacy of another; but her emotions were too 
powerful to permit her to speak, and she drew back to a 
chair, where she still retained a view of the stranger, from 
whose countenance she felt it to be impossible to withdraw 
her eyes. Isabella was too much engrossed by her own 
feelings to discover the trembling figure of the witness to 
her actions, and she pressed the inanimate image to her 
lips, with an enthusiasm that denoted the most intense 
passion. The expression of the countenance of the fair 
stranger was so changeable, and the transitions were so 
rapid, that Frances had scarcely time to distinguish the 
character of the emotion, before it was succeeded by an- 
other, equally powerful and equally attractive. Admiration 
and sorrow were, however, the preponderating passions; 
the latter was indicated by large drops that fell from her 


212 


THE SPY 


eyes on the picture, and which followed each other over 
her cheek at such intervals, as seemed to pronounce the i 
grief too heavy to admit of the ordinary demonstrations of 
sorrow. Every movement of Isabella was marked by an 
enthusiasm that was peculiar to her nature, and every 
passion in its turn triumphed in her breast. The fury of ' 
the wind, as it whistled round the angles of the building, ] 
was in consonance with those feelings, and she rose and j 
moved to a window of her apartment. Her figure was now i 
hid from the view of Frances, who was about to rise and \ 
approach her guest, when tones of a thrilling melody ' 
chained her in breathless silence to the spot. The notes 
were wild, and the voice not powerful, but the execution 
exceeded any thing that Prances had ever heard; and she 
stood, endeavouring to stifle the sounds of her own gentle | 
breathing, until the following song w^as concluded: — | 

Cold blow the blasts o’er the tops of the mountain, 

And bare is the oak on the hill; 

Slowly the vapours exhale from the fountain, 

And bright gleams the ice-border ’d rill; 

All nature is seeking its annual rest, j 

But the slumbers of peace have deserted my breast. 

'i 

Long has the storm pour’d its w^eight on my nation, 

And long have her brave stood the shock; 

Long has our chieftain ennobled his station, 

A bulwark on liberty’s rock; — ^ 

Unlicensed ambition relaxes its toil, , 

i^'et blighted affection represses my smile. I 

Abroad the wild fury of winter is lowering. 

And leafless and drear is the tree; 

But the vertical sun of the south appears pouring ^ 

Its fierce killing heats upon me: — 

Without, all the season’s chill symptoms begin — 

But the fire of passion is raging within. 

Frances abandoned her whole soul to the suppressed ; 
melody of the music, though the language of the song i 
expressed a meaning, which, united with certain events of 
that and the preceding day, left a sensation of uneasiness . 
in the bosom of the warm-hearted girl, to which she had i 
hitherto been a stranger. Isabella moved from the window, 


THE SPY 


213 


iis her last tones melted on the ear of her admiring listener, 
and, for the first time, her eye rested on the pallid face of 
the intruder. A glow of fire lighted the countenance of 
both at the same instant,’ and the blue eye of Frances met 
the brilliant black oift of her guest for a single moment, 
and both fell in abashed confusion on the carpet; they 
advanced, however, until they met, and had taken each 
other’s hand, before either ventured again to look her 
companion in the face. 

“This sudden change in the weather, and perhaps the 
situation of my brother, have united to make me melan- 
choly, Miss Wharton,” said Isabella, in a low tone, and in a 
voice that trembled as she spoke. 

“ ’Tis thought you have little to apprehend for your 
brother,” said Frances, in the same embarrassed manner; 
“had you seen him when he was brought in by Major 
Dunwoodie — ” 

Frances paused, with a feeling of conscious shame, for 
which she could not account; and, in raising her eyes, she 
saw Isabella studying her countenance with an earnestness 
that again drove the blood tumultuously to her temples. 

“You were speaking of Major Dunwoodie,” said Isabella, 
faintly. 

“He was with Captain Singleton.” 

“Do you know Dunwoodie? have you seen him often?” 
Once more Frances ventured to look her guest in the face, 
and again she met the piercing eyes bent on her, as if to 
search her inmost heart. “Speak, Miss Wharton; is Major 
Dunwoodie known to you?” 

“He is my relative,” said Frances, appalled at the manner 
of the other. 

“A relative!” echoed Miss Singleton; “in what degree? — 
speak. Miss Wharton, I conjure you to speak.” 

“Our parents were cousins,” faintly replied Frances. 

“And he is to be your husband!” said the stranger, 
impetuously. 

Frances felt shocked, and all her pride awakened, by this 
direct attack upon her feelings, and she raised her eyes 
from the floor to her interrogator a little proudly, when the 


214 


THE SPY 


pale cheek and quivering lip of Isabella removed her resent-^ 
ment in a moment. “It is true! my conjecture is true:, 
speak to me, Miss Wharton; I conjure you, in mercy to my 
feelings, to tell me — do you love Dunwoodie?” There was a 
plaintive earnestness in the voice of Miss Singleton, that 
disarmed Frances of all resentment, and the only answer, 
she could make was hiding her burning face between hen 
hands, as she sunk back in a chair to conceal her con- 
fusion. 

Isabella paced the floor in silence for several minutes, 
until she had succeeded in conquering the violence of her 
feelings, when she approached the place where Frances yet 
sat, endeavouring to exclude the eyes of her companion 
from reading the shame expressed in her countenance, and, j 
taking the hand of the^ other, she spoke with an evident i' 
effort at composure. 

“Pardon me. Miss Wharton, if my ungovernable feelings 
have led me into impropriety; the powerful motive — the ; 
cruel reason — ” she hesitated; Frances now raised her face, 
and their eyes once more met; they fell in each other’s 
arms, and laid their burning cheeks together. The embrace , 
was long — was ardent and sincere — but neither spoke; and ' 
on separating, Frances retired to her own room without 
further explanation. 

While this extraordinary scene was acting in the room of . 
Miss Singleton, matters of great importance were agitated 
in the drawing-room. The disposition of the fragments of 
such a dinner as the one we have recorded, was a task that 
required no little exertion and calculation. Notwithstand- 
ing several of the small game had nestled in the pocket 
of Captain Lawton’s man, and even the assistant of Dr. 
Sitgreaves had calculated the uncertainty of his remaining 
long in such good quarters, still there was more left, uncon- 
sumed, than the prudent Miss Peyton knew how to dispose 
of to advantage. C^sar and his mistress had, therefore, 
a long and confldential communication on this important 
business; and the consequence was, that Colonel Wellmere 
was left to the hospitality of Sarah Wharton. All the 
ordinary topics of conversation were exhausted, when the 


THE SPY 


215 


Colonel, with a little of the uneasiness that is in some 
degree inseparable from conscious error, touched lightly on 
the transactions of the ‘preceding day. 

“We little thought. Miss Wharton, when I first saw this 
Mr. Dunwoodie in your house in Queen Street, that he was 
to be the renowned warrior he has proved himself,” said 
Wellmere, endeavouring to smile a^ay his chagrin. 

“Renowned, when we consider the enemy he overcame,” 
said Sarah, with consideration for her companion’s feelings. 
“ ’Twas most unfortunate, indeed, in every respect, that you 
met with the accident, or doubtless the royal arms would 
have triumphed in their usual manner.” 

“And yet the pleasure of such society as this accident 
has introduced me to, would more than repay the pain of 
a mortified spirit and wounded body,” added the Colonel, 
in a manner of peculiar softness. 

“I hope the latter is but trifling,” said Sarah, stooping to 
hide her blushes under the pretext of biting a thread from 
the work on her knee. 

“Trifling, indeed, compared to the former,” returned the 
Colonel, in the same manner. “Ah! Miss Wharton, it is in 
such moments that we feel the full value of friendship and 
sympathy.” 

Those who have never tried it cannot easily imagine what 
a rapid progress a warm-hearted female can make in love, 
in the short space of half an hour, particularly where there 
is a predisposition to the distemper. Sarah found the con- 
versation, when it began to touch on friendship and sym- 
pathy, too interesting to venture her voice with a reply. 
She, however, turned her eyes on the Colonel, and saw him 
gazing at her fine face with an admiration that was quite 
as manifest, and much more soothing, than any words 
could make it. 

Their tete-Mete was uninterrupted for an hour; and 
although nothing that would be called decided, by an 
experienced matron, was said by the gentleman, he uttered 
a thousand things that delighted his companion, who 
retired to her rest with a lighter heart than she had felt 
since the arrest of her brother by the Americans. 


' CHAPTER XVI 


And let me the canakin ^link, clink, 

And let m.e the canakin clink. 

A soldier’s a man; 

A life’s but a span; 

Why then, Jet a soldier drink. 

lAGO. 

The position held by the corps of dragoons, we have 
already said, was a favourite place of halting with their 
commander. A cluster of some half-dozen small and dilap- 
idated buildings formed what, from the circumstance of 
two roads intersecting each other at right angles, was called 
the village of the Four Corners. As usual, one of the most 
imposing of these edifices had been termed, in the language 
"of the day, “a house of entertainment for man and beast.” 
On a rough board suspended from the gallows-looking post 
that had supported the ancient sign, was, however, written 
in red chalk, ''ElizahktJi Flanagan, her hotel,'" an ebullition 
of the wit of some of the idle wags of the corps. The 
matron, whose name had thus been exalted to an office of 
such unexpected dignity, ordinarily discharged the duties 
of a female sutler, washerwoman, and, to use the language 
of Katy Haynes, petticoat doctor to the troops. She was 
the widow of a soldier who had been killed in the service, 
and who, like herself, was a native of a distant land, and 
had early tried his fortune in the colonies of North America. 
She constantly migrated with the troops; and it was sel- 
dom that they became stationary for two days at a time 
but the little cart of the bustling woman was seen driving 
into the encampment, loaded with such articles as she 
conceived would make her presence most welcome. With a 
celerity that seemed almost supernatural, Betty took up her 
ground and commenced her occupation. Sometimes the 
cart itself was her shop; at others the soldiers made her 
\ 


216 


THE SPY 


217 


I a rude shelter of such materials as offered; but on the 
J present occasion she had seized on a vacant building, and, 
by dint of stuffing the dirty breeches and half-dried linen 
\ of the troopers into the broken windows, to exclude the 
j cold, which had now become severe, she formed what she 
i herself had pronounced to be “most illigant lodgings.” The 
'■ men were quartered in the adjacent barns, and the officers 
!i collected in the “Hotel Flanagan,” as they facetiously called 
' head-quarters. Betty was well known to every trooper in 
i the corps, could call each by his Christian or nickname, as 
best suited her fancy; and, although absolutely intolerable 
r! to all whom habit had not made familiar with her virtues, 
'f was a general favourite with these partisan warriors. Her 
f faults were, a trifling love of liquor, excessive filthiness. 
h and a total disregard of all the decencies of language; her 
li virtues, an unbounded love for her adopted country, per- 
fect honesty when dealing on certain known principles with 
I the soldiery, and great good-nature. Added to these, Betty 
* had the merit of being the inventor of that beverage which 
; is so well known, at the present hour, to all the patriots 
who make a winter’s march between the commercial and 
political capitals of this great state, and which is distin- 
guished by the name of “cock-tail.” Elizabeth Flanagan 
was peculiarly well qualified, by education and circum- 
stances, to perfect this improvement in liquors, having been 
literally brought up on its principal ingredient, and having 
acquired from her Virginian customers the use of mint, 
from its flavour in a julep to its height of renown in the 
article in question. Such, then, was the mistress of the 
mansion, who, reckless of the cold northern blasts, showed 
her blooming face from the door of the building to welcome 
the arrival of her favourite, Captain Lawton, and his com- 
panion, her master in matters of surgery. 

“Ah! by my hopes of promotion, my gentle Elizabeth, 
but you are welcome!” cried the trooper, as he threw him- 
self from his saddle; “this villanous fresh-water gas from 
the Canadas has been whistling among my bones till they 
ache with the cold, but the sight of your fiery countenance 
is as cheering as a Christmas fire.” 


218 THE SPY « 

“Now sure, Captain Jack, yee’s always full of your com^ 
plimentaries,” replied the sutler, taking the bridle of he^ 
customer; “hut hurry in for the life of you, darling; the i 
fences hereabouts are not so strong as in the Highlands, | 
and there’s that within will warm both sowl and body.” i 

“So you have been laying the rails under contribution, 

I see: well, that may do for the body,” said the Captain, 
coolly; “but I have had a pull at a bottle of cut-glass with’' 
a silver stand, and I doubt my relish for your whiskey fo^ 
a month to come.” * 

“If it’s silver or goold that yee’r thinking of, it’s but 
little I have, though I’ve a trifling bit of the continental,’;i 
said Betty, with a look of humour; “but there’s that within* 
that’s fit to be put in vissels of di’monds.” 

“What can she mean, Archibald?” asked. Lawton: “the 
animal looks as if it meant more than it says!” ! 

“ ’Tis probably a wandering of the reasoning powers, 
created by the frequency of intoxicating draughts,” ob- 
served the surgeon, as he deliberately threw his left leg 
over the pommel of the saddle, and slid down on the right 
side of his horse. 

“Faith, my dear jewel of a doctor, but it was this side I 
was expicting you; the whole corps come down on this 
side but yeerself,” said Betty, winking at the trooper: “but 
I’ve been feeding the wounded, in yeer absence, with the 
fat of the land.” 

“Barbarous stupidity!” cried the panic-stricken physician," 
“to feed men labouring under the excitement of fever with 
powerful nutriment: woman, woman, you are enough to 
defeat the skill of Hippocrates!” 

“Pooh!” said Betty, with infinite composure, “what a 
botheration yee make about a little whiskey; there was but 
a gallon betwixt a good two dozen of them, and I gave it to 
the boys to make them sleep asy; sure, jist as slumbering 
drops.” 

Lawton and his companion now entered the building, and - 
the first objects which met their eyes explained the hidden 
meaning of Betty’s comfortable declaration. A long table, 
made of boards torn from the side of an out-building, was 


THE SPY 


219 


stretched through the middle of the largest apartment, or 
the bar-room, and on it was a very scanty display of 
crockery ware. The steams of cookery arose from an 
adjoining kitchen, but the principal attraction was in a 
demijohn of fair proportions, 'which had been ostenta- 
tiously placed on high by Betty as the object most worthy 
of notice. Lawton soon learnt that it was teeming with 
the real amber-coloured juice of the grape, and had been 
sent from the Locusts, as an offering to Major Dunwoodie, 
from his friend Captain Wharton, of the royal army. 

“And a royal gift it is,” said the grinning subaltern, who 
made the explanation. “The Major gives us an entertain- 
ment in honour of our victory, and you see the principal 
expense is borne, as it should be, by the enemy. Zounds, I 
am thinking that after we have primed with such stuff, we 
could charge through Sir Henry’s head-quarters, and carry 
off the knight himself.” 

The Captain of dragoons was in no manner displeased at 
the prospect of terminating so pleasantly a day that had 
been so agreeably commenced. He was soon surrounded 
by his comrades, who made many eager enquiries concern- 
ing his adventures, while the surgeon proceeded, with cer- 
tain quakings of the heart, to examine into the state of his 
wounded. Enormous fires were snapping in the chimneys 
of the house, superseding the necessity of candles, by the 
bright light which was thrown from the blazing piles. The 
group within were all young men, and tried soldiers; in 
number they were rather more than a dozen, and their 
manners and conversation were a strange mixture of the 
bluntness of the partisan with the manners of gentlemen. 
Their dresses were neat, though plain; and a never-failing 
topic amongst them was the performance and quality of 
their horses. Some were endeavouring to sleep on the 
benches which lined the walls, some were walking the 
apartments, and others were seated in earnest discussion 
on subjects connected with the business of their lives. 
Occasionally, as the door of the kitchen opened, the hissing- 
sounds of the frying-pans and the inviting savour of the 
food created a stagnation in all othpr employments; even 


220 


TPIE !SPY 


the sleepers, at such moments, would open their eyes, and 
raise their heads, to reconnoitre the state of the prepara- ■ 
tions. All this time Dunwoodie sat by himself, gazing at 
the fire, and lost in reflections which none of his officers 
presumed to disturb. He had made earnest enquiries ot . 
Sitgreaves after the condition of Singleton, during whicli 'i 
a profound and respectful silence was maintained in the 
room;' but as soon as he ended, and resumed his seat, the . 
usual ease and freedom prevailed. ' 

The arrangement of the table was a matter of but little i' 
concern to Mrs. Flanagan; and Caesar would have been 
sadly scandalised at witnessing the informality with whicli 
various dishes, each bearing a wonderful resemblance to 
the others, were placed before so many gentlemen of con- j 
sideration. In taking their places at the board, the strictest ; 
attention was paid to precedency; for notwithstanding the i 
freedom of manners which prevailed in the corps, the i 
points of military etiquette were at all times observed, with } 
something approaching to religious veneration. Most of the 
guests had been fasting too long to be in any degree fas- i 
tidious in their appetites; but the case was different with ■ 
Captain Lawton; he felt an unaccountable loathing at the ^ 
exhibition of Betty’s food, and could not refrain from 
making a few passing comments on the condition of the i 
knives, and the clouded aspect of the plates. The good- j 
nature and the personal affection of Betty for the offender, i 
restrained her, for some time, from answering his innuen- 
does, until Lawton, having ventured to admit a piece of 
the black meat into his mouth, enquired, with the affecta- 
tion of a spoiled child — 

“What kind of animal might this have been when 
living, Mrs. Flanagan?” 

“Sure, Captain, and wasn’t it the ould cow,” replied the 
sutler, with a warmth that proceeded partly from dissatis- 
faction at the complaints of her favourite, and partly from 
grief at the loss of the deceased. ‘ 

“What!” roared the trooper, stopping short as he was 
about to swallow his morsel, “ancient Jenny!” 


THE SPY 


221 


“The devil!” cried another, dropping his knife and fork, 
“she who made the campaign of the Jerseys with us?” 

“The very same,” replied the mistress of the hotel, with 
a piteous aspect' of woe; “a gentle baste, and one that could 
and did live on less than air, at need. Sure, gentlemen, 
’tis awful to have to eat sitch an ould friend.” 

“And has she sunk to this?” said Lawton, pointing with 
his knife to the remnants on the table. 

“Nay, Captain,” said Betty, with spirit, “I sould two of 
her quarters to some of your troop; but divil the word did 
I tell the boys what an ould frind it was they had bought, 
for fear it might damage their appetites.” 

“Fury!” cried the trooper, with affected anger, “I shall 
have my fellows as limber as supple-jacks on such fare; 
afraid of an Englishman as a Virginian negro is of his 
driver.” 

“Well,” said Lieutenant Mason, dropping his knife and 
fork in a kind of despair, “my jaws have more sympathy 
than many men’s heart. They absolutely decline making 
any impression on the- relics of their old acquaintance.” 

“Try a drop of the gift,” said Betty, soothingly, pouring 
a large allowance of the wine into a bowl, and drinking it 
off as taster to the corps. “Faith, ’tis but a wishy-washy 
sort of stuff after all!” 

The ice once broken, however, a clear glass of wine was 
handed to Dunwoodie, who, bowing to his companions, 
drank the liquor in the midst of a profound silence. For a 
few glasses there was much formality observed, and sundry 
patriotic toasts and sentiments were duly noticed by the 
company. The liquor, however, performed its wonted 
office ; and before the second sentinel at the door had been 
relieved, all recollection of the dinner and their cares was 
lost in the present festivity. Dr. Sitgreaves did not return 
in season to partake of Jenny, but he was in time to 
receive his fair proportion of Captain Wharton’s present. 

“A song, a song from Captain Lawton!” cried two or 
three of the party in a breath, on observing the failure of 
some of the points of good-fellowship in the trooper; 
“silence, for the song of Captain Lawton.” 


222 


THE SPY 


^‘Gentlemen,” returned Lawton, his dark eyes swimming 
with the bumpers he had finished, though his head was as 
impenetrable as a post “I am not much of a nightingale, 
but, under the favour of your good wishes, I consent to 
comply with the demand.” 

“Now, Jack,” said Sitgreaves, nodding on his seat, “re- 
member the air I taught you, and — stop, I have a copy of 
'the words in my pocket.” 

•“Forbear, forbear, good doctor,” said the trooper, filling 
his glass with great deliberation; “I never could wheel ■ 
round those hard names. Gentlemen, I will give you an 
humble attempt of my own.” ( 

“Silence, for Captain Lawton’s song!” roared five or six 
at once; when the trooper proceeded, in a fine full tone, • 
to sing the following words to a well-known bacchanalian ; 
air, several of his comrades helping him through the chorus ^ 
with a fervour that shook the crazy edifice they were in; — | 

Now push the mug, my jolly boys, 

And live, while live we can. 

Tomorrow’s sun may end your joys, 

For brief’s the hour of man. 

And he who bravely meets the foe 
His lease of life can never know. 

Old mother Flanagan 
Come and fill tiie can again; 

For you can fill, and we can swill, 

Good Betty Flanagan. 

If love of life pervades your breast. 

Or love of ease your frame. 

Quit honour’s path for peaceful rest. 

And bear a coward’s name; 

For soon and late, we danger know. 

And fearless on the saddle go. 

Old mother, etc. 

When foreign foes invade the land. 

And wives and sweethearts call: 

In freedom ’s cause we ’ll bravely stand. 

Or will as bravely fall. 

In this fair home the fates have given. 

We’ll live as lords, or live in heaven. 

Old mother, etc. 





THE SPY 


223 


At each appeal made to herself, by the united voices of 
the choir, Betty invariably advanced and complied literally 
with the request contained in the chorus, to the infinite 
delighf of the singers, and with no small participation in 
the satisfaction on her own account. The hostess was pro- 
vided with a beverage more suited to the high seasoning 
to which she had accustomed her palate, than the tasteless 
present of Captain Wharton; by which means Betty had 
managed, with tolerable facility, to keep even pace with 
the exhilaration of her guests. The applause received by 
Captain Lawton was general, with the exception of the 
surgeon, who rose from the bench during the first chorus, 
and paced the floor, in a flow of classical indignation. The 
bravos and bravissimos drowned all other noises for a 
short time; but as they gradually ceased, the doctor turned 
to the musician, and exclaimed, with heat — 

“Captain Lawton, I m.arvel that a gentleman, and a 
gallant officer, can find no other subject for his muse, in 
these times of trial, than in such beastly invocations to 
that notorious follower of the camp, the filthy Elizabeth 
Flanagan. Methinks the goddess of Liberty could furnish 
a more noble inspiration, and the sufferings of your coun- 
try a more befitting theme.” 

“Heyday!” shouted the hostess, advancing towards him 
in a threatening attitude; “and who is it that calls me 
filthy? Master squirt! Master pop-gun — ” 

“Peace!” said Dunwoodie, in a voice that was exerted 
but a little more than common, but which was succeeded 
by the stillness of death; “woman, leave the room. Dr. 
Sitgreaves, I call you to your seat, to wait the order of the 
revels.” 

“Proceed, proceed,” said the surgeon, drawing himself 
up in an attitude of dignified composure; “I trust. Major 
Dunwoodie, I am not unacquainted with the rules of de- 
corum, nor ignorant of the bye-laws of good-fellowship.” 
Betty made a hasty but somewhat devious retreat to her 
own dominions, being unaccustomed to dispute the orders 
of the commanding officer. 

“Major Dunwoodie will honour us with a sentimental 


224 


THE SPY 


song,” said Lawton, bowing to his leader, with the collected 
manner he so well knew how to assume. 

The Major hesitated a moment, and then sang, with fine 
execution, the following words: — 

Some love the heats of southern suns, 

Where life’s warm current maddening runs, 

In one quick circling “stream ; ' 

But dearer far’s the mellow light 
Which trembling shines, reflected bright 
In Luna’s milder beam. 

Some love the tulip’s gaudier dyes, / 

Where deepening blue with yellow’ vies. 

And gorgeous beauty glows; 

But happier he, whose bridal wreath, 

By love entwined, is found to breathe 
The sweetness of the rose. 

The voice of Dunwoodie never lost its authority with his 
inferiors; and the applause which follow’ed his song, though ■ 
by no means so riotous as that which succeeded the effort : 
of the Captain, was much more flattering. 

“If, sir,” said the doctor, after joining in 'the plaudits] 
of his companions, “you would but learn to unite classical , 
allusions with your delicate imagination, you would become ■> 
a pretty amateur poet.” 

“He who criticises ought to be able to perform,” • said 
Dunwoodie, with a smile. “I call on Dr. Sitgreaves for a 
specimen of the st 3 de 'he admires.” 

“Dr. Sitgreaves’ song! Dr. Sitgreaves’ song!” echoed all 
at the table with delight; “a classical ode from Dr. Sit- 
greaves!” ■ 

The surgeon made a complacent "bow, took the remnant 

of his glass, and gave a few preliminary hems, j;hat served f 

hugely to delight three or four young cornets at the foot of - 

the table. He then commenced singing, in a cracked voice, . 

and to any thing but a tune, the following ditty: — J 

I 

Hast thou ever felt love’s dart, dearest, * 

Or breathed his trembling sigh — <1 

Thought him, afar, w’as ever nearest, 

Before that sparkling eye? I 

Then hast thou knowm what ’tis to feel 'i 

The pain that Galen could not heal 1 


THE SPY 


225 


“Hurrah!” shouted L(awton: “Archibald eclipses the 
muses themselves; his words flow like the sylvan stream 
hy moonlight, and his melody is a cross breed of the night- 
ingale and the owl.” 

“Captain Lawton,” cried the exasperated operator, “it is 
one thing to despise the lights of classical learning, and 
another to be despised for your own ignorance!” 

A loud summons at the door of the building created a 
dead halt in the uproar, and the dragoons instinctively 
caught up their arms, to be prepared for the worst. The 
t door was opened, and the Skinners entered, dragging in 
the pedler, bending beneath the load of his pack. 

“Which is Captain Lawton?” said the leader of the gang, 
gazing around him in some little astonishment. 

“He waits your pleasure,” said the trooper, dryly. 

“Then here I deliver to your hands a condemned traitor: 
this is Harvey Birch, the pedler spy.” 

Lawton started as he looked his old acquaintance in the 
face, and, turning to the Skinner with a lowering look, be 
asked — 

“And who are you, sir, that speak so freely of your neigh- 
bours? — But,” bowing to Dunwoodie, “your pardon, sir; 
here is the commanding officer; to him you will please 
address yourself.” 

“No,” said the man, sullenly, “it is to you I deliver the 
pedler, and from you I claim my reward.” 

“Are you Harvey Birch?” said Dunwoodie, advancing 
with an air of authority that instantly drove the Skinner 
to a corner of the room. 

“I am,” said Birch, proudly. 

“And a traitor to your country,” continued the Major, 
with sternness; “do you know that I should be jiistiffed in 
ordering your execution this night?” ^ 

“ ’Tis not the will of God to call a soul so hastily to his 
presence,” said the pedler, with solemnity. 

“You speak truth,” said Dunwoodie;. “and a few brief 
hours shall be added to your life. But as your offence is 
most odious to a soldier, so it will be sure to meet with 
the soldier’s vengeance: you die to-morrow.” 


226 


THE SPY 


“ ’Tis as God wills.” 

'T have spent many a good hour to entrap the villain,” 
said the Skinner, advancing a little from his corner, “and 
I hope you will give me a certificate that will entitle us to 
the reward; ’twas promised to he paid in gold.” i 

“Major Dunwoodie,” said the officer of the day, entering , 
the room, “the patrols report a house to be burnt near i 
yesterday’s battle-ground.” , | 

“ ’Twas the hut of the pedler,” muttered the leader of I 
the gang; “we have not left him a shingle for shelter; I 
should have burnt it months ago, but I wanted his shed for 
a trap to catch the sly fox in.” 

“You seem a most ingenious patriot,” said Lawton. 
“Major Dunwoodie, I second the request of this worthy 
gentleman, and- crave the office of bestowing the reward j 
on hini and his fellows.” j 

“Take it; — and you, miserable man, prepare for that 
fate which will surely befall you before the setting of to- ' 
morrow’s sun.” j 

“Life offers but little to tempt me with,” said Harvey, [ 
slowly raising his eyes, and gazing wildly at the strange [ 
faces in the apartment. , * 

“Come, worthy children of America!” said Lawton, “fol- i 
low, and receive your reward.” ’ f 

The gang eagerly accepted the invitation, and followed j 
the Captain towards the quarters assigned to his troop. • 
Dunwoodie paused a moment, from reluctance to triumph ^ j 
over a fallen foe, before he proceeded. j 

“You have already been tried, Harvey Birch; and the 
truth has proved you to be an enemy too dangerous to the | 
liberties of America to be suffered to live.” j 

“The truth!” echoed the pedler, starting, and ■ raising < 
himself in a manner that disregarded the weight of his 
pack. 

“Ay! the truth; you were charged with loitering near 
the continental army, to gain intelligence of its movements, 
and, by communicating them to the enemy, to enable him 
to frusirate the intentions of Washington.” 

“Will Washington say so, think you?” | 


THE SPY 


227 


“Doubtless he would; even the justice of Washington con- 
demns you.” 

“No, no, no,” cried the pedler, in a voice and with a 
manner that startled Dunwoodie; “Washington can see 
beyond the hollow views of pretended patriots. Has he 
not risked his all on the cast of a die? if a gallows is ready 
for me, was there not one for him also? No, no, no, no — • 
Washington would never say, ‘Lead him to a gallows.’ ” 

“Have you any thing, wretched man, to urge to the com- 
mander-in-chief why you should not die?” said the Major, 
recovering from the surprise created by the manner of the 
other. 

Birch trembled, for violent emotions ‘were contending in 
his bosom. His face assumed the ghastly paleness of death, 
and his hand* drew a box of tin from the folds of his shirt; 
he opened it, showing by the act that it contained a small 
piece of paper: on this document his eye was for an instant 
fixed — he had already held it towards Dunwoodie, when 
suddenly withdrawing his hand, he exclaimed — 

“No — it dies with me; I know the conditions of my 
service, and will not purchase life with their forfeiture — it 
dies with me.” 

“Deliver that paper, and you may possibly find favour,” 
cried Dunwoodie, expecting a discovery of importance to 
the cause. 

“It dies with me,” repeated Birch, a flush passing over 
his pallid features, and lighting them wi^h extraordinary 
brilliancy. 

“Seize the traitor!” cried the Major, “and wrest the secret 
from his hands.” 

The order was immediately obeyed; but the movements 
of the pedler were too quick; in an instant he swallowed 
the paper. The officers paused in astonishment; but the 
surgeon cried eagerly — 

“Hold him, while I administer an emetic.” 

“Forbear!” said Dunwoodie, beckoning him back with 
his hand; “if his crime is great, so will his punishment be 
heavy,” 

“Lead on,” cried the pedler, dropping his pack from his 


228 


THE SPY 


shoulders, and advancing towards the door with a manner i 
of incomprehensible dignity. 

“Whither?” asked Dunwoodie, in amazement. 

“To the gallows.” 

“No,” said the Major, recoiling in horror at his own 
justice. “My duty requires that I order you to he executed, 
hut surely not so hastily; take until nine to-morrow to 
prepare for the awful change.” 

Dunwoodie whispered his orders in the ear of a subal- 
tern, and motioned to the pedler to withdraw. The inter- 
ruption caused by this scene prevented further enjoyment t 
around the table, and the officers dispersed to their several 
places of rest. In a short time the only noise to be heard 
was the heavy tread of the sentinel, as he paced the frozen ‘ 
ground in front of the Hotel Flanagan. 


CHAPTER XVII , 


‘‘There are, whose changing lineaments 

Express each guileless passion of the breast ; 

Where Love, aipd Hope, and tender-hearted Pity 
Are seen reflected, as from a mirror's face; 

But cold experience can veil these hues 
Wich looks, invented shrewdly to encompass 
The cunning purposes of base deceit." 

Duo. 

The officer to whose keeping Dunwoodie had committed 
the pedler transferred his charge to the custody of the 
regular sergeant of the guard. The gift of Captain Wharton 
had not been lost on the youthful lieutenant; and a certain 
dancing motion that had taken possession of objects before 
his eyes, gave him warning of the necessity^ of recruiting 
nature by sleep. After admonishing the non-commissioned 
guardian of Harvey to omit no watchfulness in securing the 
prisoner, the youth wrapped himself in his cloak, and, 
stretched on a bench before a fire, soon found the repose he 
needed. A rude shed extended the whole length of the 
rear of the building, and from off one of its ends had been 
partitioned a 'small apartment, that was intended as a 
repository for many of the lesser implements of husbandry. 
The lawless times had, however, occasioned its being 
stripped of every thing of value; and the searching eyes 
of Betty Flanagan selected this spot, on her arrival, as the 
storehouse for her moveables, and a sanctuary for her per- 
son. Tlje spare arms and baggage of the corps had also 
been deposited here; and the united treasures were placed 
under thfe eye of the sentinel who paraded the shed as a 
guardian at the rear of the head-quarters. A second soldier, 
who was stationed near the house to protect the horses of 
the officers, could command a view of the outside of the 
apartment; and, as it was without window or outlet of any 


22f) 


230 


THE SPY 


kind, excepting its door, the considerate sergeant thought i 
this the most befitting place in which to deposit his pris- ; 
oner until the moment of his execution. Several induce- 1 
ments urged Sergeant Hollister to this determination, r 
among which was the absence of the washerwoman, who i 
lay before the kitchen fire, dreaming that the corps was > 
attacking a party of the enemy, and mistaking the noise | 
i that proceeded from her own nose for the bugles of the Vir- j 
ginians sounding the charge. Another was the peculiar 1 
opinions that the veteran entertained of life and death, and 
by which, he was distinguished in the corps as a man of 
most exemplary piety and holiness of life. The sergeant 
was more than fifty years of age, and for half that period 
he had borne arms. The constant recurrence of sudden i 
deaths before his eyes, had produced an effect on him i 
differing greatly from that which was the usual moral con- j 
sequence of such scenes; and he had become not only the \ 
most steady, but the most trustworthy soldier in his troop. 
Captain Lawton had rewarded his fidelity by making him j 
its orderly. j 

Followed by Birch, the sergeant proceeded in silence to | 
the door of the intended prison, and, throwing it open with I 
one hand, he held a lantern with the other to light the j 
pedler to his prison. Seating himself on a cask, that con- I 
tained some of Betty’s favourite beverage, the sevgeant | 
motioned to Birch to occupy another, in the same manner, i 
The lantern was placed on the fioor, wHen the dragoon, i 
after looking his prisoner steadily in the face, observed — j 
“You look as if you would meet death like a man; and I | 
have brought you to a spot where you can tranquilly ar- 
range your thoughts, and be quiet and undisturbed.” 

“ ’Tis a fearful place to prepare for the last change in,” 
said Harvey, gazing around his little prison with a vacant 
eye. 

“Why, for the matter of that,” returned the veteran, “it 
can reckon but little, in the great account, where a man 
parades his thoughts for the last review, so that he finds 
them fit to pass the muster of another world. I have a 
' - small book here, which I make it a point to read a little in. 


THE SPY 


231 


whenever we are about to engage, and I find it a great 
strengthener in time of need.” While speaking, he took a 
Bible from his pocket, and offered it to the pedler. Birch 
received the volume with habitual reverence; but there 
was an abstracted air about him, and a wandering of the 
eye, that induced his- companion to think that alarm was 
getting the mastery of the pedler’s feelings; accordingly, 
he proceeded in what he conceived to be the offices of con- 
soLation. 

Vlf any thing lies heavy on your mind, now is the best 
time to get rid of it — if you have done any wrong to any 
one, I promise you, on the word of an honest dragoon, to 
lend you a helping hand to see them righted.” 

“There are few who have not done so,” said the pedler, 
turning his vacant gaze once more on his companion. 

“True — ’tis natural to sin — but it sometimes happens, 
that a man does what at other times he may be sorry for. 
One would not wish to die with any very heavy sin on his 
conscience, after all.” 

Harvey had by this time thoroughly examined the place 
in which he ,was to pass the night, and saw no means of 
escape. But as hope is ever the last feeling to desert the 
human breast, the pedler gave the dragoon more of his 
attention, fixing on his sunburnt features such searching 
looks, that Sergeant Hollister lowered his eyes before the 
wild expression which he met in the gaze of his prisoner. 

“I have been taught to lay the burden of my sins at the 
feet of my Saviour,” replied the pedler. 

“Why, yes — all that is well enough,” returned the other; 
“but justice should be done while there is opportunity. 
There have been stirring times in this country since the 
war began, and many have^been deprived of their rightful 
goods. I oftentimes find it hard to reconcile even my law- 
ful plunder to a tender conscience.” 

“These hands,” said the pedler, stretching forth his 
meagre, bony fingers, “have spent years in toil, but not a 
moment in pilfering.” 

“It is well that it is so,” said the honest-hearted soldier; 
“and, no doubt, you now feel it a great consolation. There 


232 


THE SPY 


are three great sins, that, if a man can keep his conscience 
clear of, why, by the mercy of God, he may hope to pass 
muster with the saints in heaven: they are stealing, mur- 
dering, and desertion.” 

“Thank God!” said Birch with fervour, “I have never 
yet taken the life of a fellow-creature.” 

“As to killing a man in lawful battle, that is, no more 
than doing one’s duty. If the cause is wrong, the sin of 
such a deed, you know, falls on the nation, and a man 
receives his punishment here with the rest of the people; 
but murdering in cold blood stands next to desertion as a 
crime in the eye of God.” 

“I never was a soldier, therefore never could desert,” 
said the pedler, resting his face on his hand in a melan- 
choly attitude. 

“Y’Tiy, desertion consists of more than quitting your 
colours, though that is certainly the worst kind; a man 
may desert his country in the hour of need.” 

Birch buried his face in both his hands, and his whole 
frame shook; the sergeant regarded him closely, but good 
feelings soon got the better of his antipathies, and he con- 
tinued more mildly — 

“But still that is a sin which I think may be forgiven, if 
sincerely repented of; and it matters but little when or how 
a man dies, so that he dies like a Christian and a man. I 
recommend you to say your prayers, and then to get some 
rest, in order that you may do both. There is no hope of 
your being pardoned; for Colonel Singleton has sent down 
the most positive orders to take your life whenever we met 
you. No — no — nothing can save you.” 

“You say the truth,” cried Birch. “It is now too late— 
I have destroyed my only safeguard. But he will do my 
memory justice at least.” 

“What safeguard?” asked the sergeant, with awakened 
curiosity. 

“ ’Tis nothing,” replied the pedler, recovering his natural 
manner, and lowering his face to avoid the earnest looks of 
his companion. 

“And who is he?” 


i 


I 


- THE SPY 


233 


“No one,” added Harvey, anxious to say no more. 

“Nothing, and no one, can avail but little now,” said the 
sergeant, rising to go; “lay yourself on the blanket of Mrs. 
.Flanagan, and get a little sleep; I will call you betimes in 
the morning; and, from the bottom of my soul, I wish I 
could be of some service to you, for I dislike greatly to see 
a man hung up like a dog.” 

“Then 2/0^ might save me from this ignominious death,” 
said Birch, springing on his feet, and catching the dragoon 
by the arm — “And, oh! what will I not give you in re- 
ward!” 

“In what manner?” asked the sergeant, looking at him in 
surprise. 

“See,” said the pedler, producing several guineas from 
his person; “these are nothing to what I will give you, if 
you will assist me to escape.” 

“Were you the man whose picture is on the gold, I would 
not listen to such a crime,” said the trooper, throwing the 
money on the floor with contempt. “Go — go-r-poor wretch, 
arid make your peace with God; for it is he only that can 
be of service to you now.” 

The sergeant took up the lantern, and, with some indig- 
nation in his manner, he left the pedler to sorrowful medi- 
tations on his approaching fate. Birch sunk, in momentary 
despair, on the pallet of Betty, while his guardian pro- 
ceeded to give the necessary instructions to the sentinels 
for his safe-keeping. 

Hollister concluded his _ injunctions to the man in the 
shed, by saying, “Your life will depend on his not escaping. 
Let none enter or quit the room till morning.” 

“But,” said the trooper, “my orders are, to let the washer- 
woman pass in and out, as she pleases.” 

“Well, let her then; but be careful that this wily pedler 
does not get out in the folds of her petticoats.” He then 
continued his walk, giving similar orders to each of the 
sentinels near the spot. 

For some time after the departure of the sergeant, silence 
prevailed within the solitary prison of the pedler, until the 
dragoon at his -door heard his loud breathings, which soon 


234 


THE SPY 


rose into the regular cadence of one in a deep sleep. The ; 
man continued walking his post, musing on an indifference ; 
to life which could allow nature its customary rest, even on j 
the threshold of the grave. Harvey Birch had, however, • 
been a name too long held in detestation hy every man in j 
the corps, to suffer any feelings of commiseration to mingle , ' 
with these reflections of the sentinel; for, notwithstanding l 
the consideration and kindness manifested by the sergeant, ; 
there probably was not another man of his rank in the |. 
whole party v'^ho would have discovered equal benevolence 
to the prisoner, or who would not have imitated the veteran j 
in rejecting the bribe, although probably from a less worthy | 
motive. There was something of disappointed vengeance 1 
in the feelings of the man who watched the door of the • 
room on finding his prisoner enjoying. a sleep of which he i 
himself was deprived, and at his exhibiting such obvious i 
indifference to the utmost penalty that military rigour j 
could inflict on all his treason to the cause of liberty and ■ 
America. M»re than once he felt prompted to disturb the i 
repose of the pedler by taunts and revilings; but the disci- i 
pline he was under, and a secret sense of shame at the | 
brutality df the act, held him in subjection. 

His meditations were, however, soon interrupted by the ! 
appearance of the washerwoman, who came staggering ! 
through the door that communicated with the kitchen, 1 
muttering execrations against the servants of the officers, 
who, by their waggery, had disturbed her slumbers before j 
the fire. The sentinel understood enough of her maledic- j 
tions to comprehend the case; but all his efforts to enter 
into conversation with the enraged woman were useless, 
and he suffered her to enter her room without explaining 
that it contained another inmate. The noise of her huge 
frame falling on the bed was succeeded by a silence that 
was soon interrupted by the renewed respiration of the 
pedler, and within a few minutes Harvey continued to 
breathe aloud, as if no interruption had occurred. The 
relief arrived at this moment. The sentinel, who felt 
nettled at the contempt of the pedler, after communicating 
his orders, while he was retiring, exclaimed to his suc- 
cessor — 


THE SPY 


“You may keep yourself warm by dancing, John; the 
pedler spy has tuned his fiddle, you hear, and it will not 
be long before Betty will strike up, in her turn.” 

The joke was followed by a general laugh from the party, 
who marched on in the performance of their duty. At this 
instant the door of the prison was gpened, and Betty reap- 
peared, staggering back again toward her former quarters. 

“Stop,” said the sentinel, catching her by her clothes; 
“are you sure the spy is not in your pocket?” 

• “Can’t you hear the rascal snoring in my room, you dirty 
blackguard?” sputtered Betty, her whole frame shaking 
with rage; “and is it so ye would sarve a dacent famale, 
that a man must be put to sleep in the room wid her, ye 
rapscallion?” 

“Pooh! do you mind a fellow who’s to be hanged in the 
morning? You see he sleeps already; — to-morrow he’ll 
take a longer nap.” 

“Hands off, ye villain!” cried the washerwoman, re- 
linquishing a small bottle that the tropper had succeeded 
in wresting from her. “But I’ll go to Captain Jack, and 
know if it’s orders to put a hang-gallows spy in my room; 
ay, even in my widowed bed, you tief!” 

“Silence, old Jezebel!” said the fellow with a laugh, 
taking the Ijottle from his mouth to breathe, “or you will 
wake the gentleman — would you disturb a man in his last- 
sleep?” 

“I’ll awake Captain Jack, you reprobate villain, and 
bring him here to see me righted: he will punish ye all, 
for imposing on a dacent widowed body, you marauder!” 

With these words, which only extorted a laugh from the 
sentinel, Betty staggered round the end of the building, 
and made the best of her way towards the quarters of her 
favourite. Captain John Lawton, in search of redress. 
Neither the officer nor the woman, however, appeared dur- 
ing the night, and nothing further occurred to disturb the 
repose of the pedler, who, to the astonishment of the differ- 
ent sentinels, continued by his breathing to manifest how 
little the gallows could affect his slumbers. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel! — 

O wise young judge, hoW I do honour thee! i 

Merchant of Venice. 

The Skinners followed Captain Lawton with alacrity, 
towards the quarters occupied by the troop of that gentle- 
man. The captain of dragoons had on all occasions mani- 
fested so much zeal for the cause in which he was engaged, 
was so regardless of personal danger when opposed to the 
enemy, and his stature and stern countenance contributed 
so much to render him terrific, that these qualities had, in 
some measure, procured him a reputation distinct from the 
corps ^ in which he served. His intrepidity was mistaken 
for ferocity; and his hasty zeal, for the natural love of 
cruelty. On the other hand, a few acts of clemency, or, 
more properly speaking, of discriminating justice, had, 
with one portion of the community, acquired for Dun- 
woodie the character of undue forbearance. It is seldom 
that either popular condemnation or popular applause falls, 
exactly in the quantities earned, where it is merited. 

’ While in the presence of the Major, the leader of the 
gang had felt himself under that restraint which vice must 
ever experience in the company of acknowledged virtue; 
but having left the house, he at once conceived that he 
was under the protection of a congenial spirit. There was 
-a gravity in the manner of Lawton, that deceived most of 
those who did not know him intimately; and it was a com- 
mon saying in his troop, “that when the captain laughed, 
he was sure to punish.” Drawing near his conductor, 
therefore, the leader commenced a confidential dialogue — 

“ Tis always well for a man to know his friends from his 
enemies,” said the half-licensed freebooter. 

To this prefatory observation the captain made nlo other 
reply than a sound, which the other interpreted into assent. 


236 


THE SPY 


237 


“I suppose Major Dunwoodie has the good opinion of 
Washington?” continued the Skinner, in a tone that rather 
expressed a doubt than asked a question. 

‘'There are some Avho think so.” 

“Many of the friends of Congress in this county,” the 
man proceeded, “wish the horse was led by some other 
officer; for my part, if I could only be covered by a troop 
now and then, I could do many an important piece of 
service to the cause, to which this capture of the pedler 
would be a trifle.” 

“Indeed! such as what?” 

“For the matter of that, it could be made as profitable 
to the officer as it would be to us who did it,” said the 
Skinner, with a look of the most significant meaning. 

“But how?” asked Lawton, a little impatiently, and 
quickening his step to get out of the hearing of the rest of 
the party. 

“Why, near the royal lines, even under the very guns of 
the heights, might be good picking if we had a force to 
guard us from De Lancey’s * men, and to cover our retreat 
from being cut off by the way of King’s-bridge.” 

“I thought the Refugees took all that game to them- 
selves.” 

“They do a little at it; but they are obliged to be sparing 
among their own people. I have been down twice, under 
an agreement with them: the first time they acted with 

* The partisan corps, called Cow-boys in the parlance of the 
country, was commanded by a Colonel de Lancey. This gentleman, 
for such he was by birth and education, rendered himself odious to 
the Americans by his fancied cruelty, though there is no evidence 
of his being guilty of any acts unusual in this species of warfare. 

Colonel de Lancey belonged to a family of the highest conse- 
quence in the American colonies, his uncle having died in fhe 
administration of the government of that of New York. He should 
not be confounded with other gentlemen of his name and family, 
many of whom served in the royal army. His cousin. Colonel 
Oliver de Lancey, was, at the time of our tale, adjutant-general of 
the British forces in America, having succeeded to the unfortunate 
Andre. The Cow-boys were sometimes called Refugees, in conse- 
quence of their having taken refuge under the protection of the 
crown. 


238 


THE SPY 


honour; but the second they came upon us and drove us 
off, and took the plunder to themselves.” 

“That was a very dishonourable act, indeed; I wonder; 
that an honourable man will associate with such rascals. 

“It is necessary to have an understanding with some of: 
them, or we might be taken; but a man without honour is^ 
worse than a brute. Do you think Major Dunwoodie is to 
be trusted?” ^ 

“You mean on honourable principles?” f 

“Certainly; you know Arnold was thought well of until 
the royal major was taken.” 

“Why, I do not believe Dunwoodie would sell his com- 
mand as Arnold wished to do; neither do I think him 
exactly trustworthy in a delicate business like this of 
yours.” 

“That’s just my notion,” rejoined the Skinner, with a 
self-approving manner that showed how' much he was 
satisfied with his own estimate of character. 

By this time they had arrived at a better sort of farm- 
house, the very extensive out-buildings of which were in 
tolerable repair, for the times. The barns were occupied 
by the men of the troop, while the horses were arranged 
under the long sheds which protected the yard from the 
cold north wind. The latter were quietly eating, with 
saddles on their backs and bridles thrown on their necks, 
ready to be bitted and mounted at the shortest warning. 
Lawton excused himself for a moment, and entered his 
quarters, He soon returned, holding in his hand one of 
the common stable-lanterns, and led the way towards a 
large orchard that surrounded the buildings on three sides. 
The gang followed the trooper in silence, believing his 
object to be facility of communicating further on this inter- 
esting topic, without the danger of being overheard. 

Approaching the Captain, the Skinner renewed the dis- 
course, with a view of establishing further confidence, and 
of giving his companion a more favourable opinion of his 
own intellects. 

“Do you think the colonies will finally get the better of 


THE SPY 


239 


the king?” he enquired, with a little of the importance of a 
politician. 

‘‘Get the betterj” echoed the Captain with impetuosity — 
then checking himself, he continued, “no doubt they will. 
If the French will give us arms and money, we, can drive 
out the royal troops in six months.” 

“Well, so I hope we shall soon; and then we shall have 
a free government, and we, who fight for it, will get our 
reward.” 

“Oh!” cried Lawton, “your claims will be indisputable; 
while all these vile Tories who live at home peaceably, to 
take care of their farms, will be held in the contempt they 
merit You have no farm, I suppose?” 

“Not yet — but it wdll go hard if I do not find one before 
I the peace is made.” 

j J “Right; study your own interests, and you study the 
f interests of your country; press the point of your own 
i services, and rail at the Tories, and I’ll bet my spurs 
against a rusty nail that you get to be a county clerk at 
least.” 

“Don’t you think Paulding’s * party were fools in not 
t letting the royal adjutant-general escape?” Said the man, 
thrown off his guard by the freedom of the Captain’s 
manner. 

“Fools!” cried Lawton, with a bitter laugh; “ay, fools 
• indeed; King George would have paid them better, for he 
j is richer. He would have made them gentlemen for their 
I lives. . But, thank God! there is a pervading spirit in the 
I- people that seems miraculous. Men who have nothing, act 
I as if the wealth of the Indies depended on their fidelity; 
all are not villains like yourself, or we should have been 
slaves to England years ago.” 

“How!” exclaimed the Skinner, starting back, and drop- 


* Andrg, as is well known, was arrested by three countrymen, who 
were on the lookout for predatory parties of the enemy ; the prin- 
cipal man of this party was named Paulding. The disinterested 
manner in which they refused the offers of their captive is a matter 
of history. 


240 


THE SPY 


ping his musket to the level of the other's breast; “am 1 
betra 3 ^ed, and are you my enemy?” 

“Miscreant!” shouted Lawton, his sabre ringing in its 
steel scabbard, as he struck the musket of the fellow from 
his hands, “offer but again to point your gun at me, and 
ril cleave you to the middle.” 

“And you will not pay us, then, Captain Lawton?” said 
the Skinner, trembling in every joint, for just then he saw 
a party of mounted dragoons silently encircling the whole 
party. 

“Oh! pay you — yes, you shall have the full measure of 
your reward. There is the money that Colonel Singleton 
sent down for the captors of the spy,” throwing a bag of 
guineas with disdain at the other’s feet. “But ground 
your arms, you rascals, and see that the money is truly 
told.” 

The intimidated band did as they were ordered; and 
while they were eagerly employed in this pleasing avoca- 
tion, a few of Lawton’s men privately knocked the flints 
Dut of their muskets. 

“Well,” cried the impatient captain, “is it right? — have 
you the promised reward?” 

“There is just the money,” said the leader; “and we will 
now go to our homes, with your permission.” 

“Hold! so much to redeem our promise — now for justice; 
we pay you for taking a spy, but we punish you for burn- 
ing, robbing, and murdering. Seize them, my lads, and 
give each of them the law of Moses — forty, save one.” 

This command was given to no unwilling listeners; and 
in the twinkling of an eye the Skinners were stripped and 
fastened, by the halters of the party, to as many of the 
apple-trees as were necessary to furnish one to each of the 
gang. Swords were quickly drawn, and fifty branches were 
cut from the trees, like magic; from these were selected a 
few of the most supple of the twigs, and a willing dragoon 
was soon found to wield each of the weapons. Captain 
Lawton gave the word, humanely cautioning his men not 
to exceed the discipline prescribed by the Mosaic law, and 
the uproar of Babel commenced in the orchard. The cries 


THE SPY 


. 24i 


of the leader were easily to be distinguished above those 
of his men; a circumstance which might be accounted for, 
by Captain Lawton’s reminding his corrector that he had 
to deal with an officer, and he should reniember and pay 
him unusual honour. The flagellation was executed with 
great neatness and despatch, and it was distinguished by 
no irregularity, excepting that none of the disciplinarians 
began to count until they had tried their whips by a dozen 
or more blows, by the way, as they said themselves, of 
finding out the proper places to strike. As soon as this 
summary operation was satisfactorily completed, Lawton 
directed his^men to leave the Skinners to replace their own 
clothes, and to mount their horses; for they were a party 
who had been detached for the purpose of patrolling lower 
down in the county. 

“You see, my friend,” said the Captain to the leader of 
the Skinners, after he had prepared himself to depart, “I 
can cover you to some purpose, when necessary. If we 
meet often, you will be covered with scars, which, if not 
very honourable, will at least be merited.” 

The fellow made no reply. He was busy with his musket, 
and hastening his comrades to march; when, every thing 
being ready, they proceeded sullenly towards some rocks 
at no great distance, which were overhung by a deep wood. 
The moon was just rising, and the group of dragoons could 
easily be distinguished where they had been left. Suddenly 
turning, the whole gang levelled their pieces and drew the 
triggers. The action was noticed, and the snapping of the 
locks was heard by the soldiers, who returned their futile 
attempt with a laugh of derision, the captain crying 
aloud — 

“Ah! rascals, I knew you, and have taken away your 
flints.” 

“You should have taken away that in my pouch too,” 
shouted the leader, firing his gun in the next instant. The 
bullet grazed the ear of Lawton, who laughed as he shook 
his head, saying, “A miss was as good as a mile.” One of 
the dragoons had seen the preparations of the Skinner — 
who had been left alone by the rest of his gang, as soon as 


242 


THE SPY 


they had made their abortive attempt at revenge — ^and 
was in the act of plunging his spurs into his horse as the 
fellow fired. The distance to the rocks was but small, yet 
the speed of the horse compelled the leader to abandon 
both money and musket, to effect his escape. The soldier 
returned with his prizes, and offered them to the acceptance 
of his captain; but Lawton rejected them, telling the man 
to retain them himself, until the rascal appeared in person 
to claim his property. It would have been a business of 
no small difficulty for any tribunal then existing in the 
new states to have enforced a restitution of the money; for 
it was shortly after most equitably distributed, by the 
hands of Sergeant Hollister, among a troop of horse. The 
patrol departed, and the Captain slowly returned to his 
quarters,, with an intention of retiring to rest. A figure j 
moving rapidly among the trees, in the direction of the : 
wood whither the Skinners had retired, caught his eye, and, 
wheeling on his heel, the cautious partisan approached it, 
and, to his astonishment, saw the washerwoman at that 
hour of the night, and in such a place. 

“What, Betty! walking in your sleep, or dreaming while 
awake?” cried the trooper; "are you not afraid of meeting 
with the ghost of ancient Jenny in this her favourite pas- 
ture?” 

“Ah, sure. Captain Jack,” returned the sutler in her 
native accent, and reeling in a manner that made it difficult 
for her to raise her head, “it’s not Jenny, or her ghost, that 
I’m saaking, but some yarbs for the wounded. And it’s 
the vartue of the rising moon, as it jist touches them, that 
I want. They grow under yon rocks, and I must hasten, 
or the charm will lose its power.” 

“Fool, you are fitter for your pallet than for wandering 
among those rocks: a fall from one of them would break 
your bones; besides, the Skinners have fled to those heights, 
and should you fall in with them, they would revenge on 
you a sound flogging they have just received from me. 
Better return, old woman, and finish your nap; we march 
in the morning.” 

Betty disregarded his advice, and continued her devious 


THE SPY 


243 


route to the hill-side. For an instant, as Lawton men- 
tioned the Skinners, she had paused, hut immediately re- 
1 suming her course, she was soon out of sight, among the 
E trees. 

' As the Captain entered his quarters, the sentinel at the 
door enquired if he had met Mrs. Flanagan, and added that 
I she had passed there, filling the air with threats against 
her tormentors at the ‘’Hoteh” and enquiring for the Cap- 
tain in search of redress. Lawton heard the man in as- 
tonishment — appeared struck with a new idea — walked sev- 
eral yards towards the orchard, and returned again; for 
several minutes he paced rapidly to and fro before the door 
^of the house, and then hastily entering it, he threw himself 
on a bed in his clothes, and was soon in a profound sleep. 

In the mean time, the gang of marauders had success- 
fully gained the summit of the rocks, and, scattering in 
every direction, they buried themselves in the depths of 
the w'ood. Finding, however, there was no pursuit, which 
indeed would have been impracticable for horse, the leader 
ventured to call his band together with a whistle, and in a 
short time he succeeded in collecting his discomfited party, 
at a point w^here they had but little to apprehend from 
any enemy. 

“Well,” said one of the fellows, while a fire was lighting 
to protect them against the air, w'hich was becoming 
severely cold, “there is an end to our business in West- 
chester. The Virginia horse will soon make the county too 
hot to hold us.” 

“I’ll have his blood,” muttered the leader, “if I die for it 
the next instant.” 

“Oh, you are very valiant here, in the wood,” cried the 
other, with a savage laugh; “why did you, who boast so 
much of your aim, miss your man, at thirty yards?” 

“ ’Twas the horseman that disturbed me, or I would have 
ended this Captain Lawton on the spot; besides, the cold 
had set me a shivering, and I had no longer a steady 
hand.” 

“Say it was fear, and you will tell no lie,” said his com- 
rade with a sneer. “For my part, I think I shall never be 


244 


THE SPY 


cold again; my back burns as if a thousand gridirons were 
laid on it.” 

“And you would tamely submit to such usage, and kiss 
the rod that beat you?” 

“As for kissing the rod, it would be no easy matter. 
Mine was broken into so small pieces, on my own shoulders, 
that it would be difficult to find one big enough to kiss; i 
but I would rather submit to lose half my skin, than to 
lose the whole of it, with my ears in the bargain. And ; 
such will be our fates, if we tempt this mad Virginian | 
again. God willing, I would at any time give him enough j 
of my hide to make a pair of jack-boots, to get out of his ^ 
hands with the remainder. If you had known when you ; 
were well off, you would have stuck to Major Dunwoodie, I 
who don’t know half so much of our evil-doings.” 

“Silence, you talking fool!” shouted the enraged leader; 
“your prating is sufficient to drive a man mad; is it not 
enough to be robbed and beaten, but we must be tormented 
with your folly? — help to get out the provisions, if any is 
left in the wallet, and try and stop your mouth with food.” 

This injunction was obeyed, and the whole party, amidst 
sundry groans and contortions, excited by the disordered 
state of their backs, made their arrangements for a scanty 
meal. A large fire of dry wood was burning in the cleft of 
a rock, and at length they began to recover from the con- 
fusion of their flight, and to collect their scattered senses. 
Their hunger being appeased, and many of their garments 
thrown aside for the better opportunity of dressing their 
wounds, the gang began to plot measures of revenge. An 
hour was spent in this manner, and various expedients 
were proposed; but as they all depended on personal 
prowess for their success, and were attended by great 
danger, they were of course rejected. There was no pos- 
sibility of approaching the troops by surprise, their vigi- 
lance being ever on the watch; and the hope of meeting 
Captain Lawton, away from his men, was equally forlorn, 
for the trooper was constantly engaged in his duty, and 
his movements were so rapid, that any opportunity of 
meeting with him, at all, must depend greatly on accident. 


THE SPY 


245 


Besides, it was by no means certain, that such an interview 
would result happily for themselves. The cunning of the 
trooper was notorious; and rough and broken as was West- 
chester, the fearless partisan was known to take desperate 
leaps, and stone walls were but slight impediments to the 
charges of the Southern horse.. Gradually, the conversa- 
tion took another direction, until the gang determined on a 
plan which should both revenge themselves, and at the 
same time offer some additional stimulus to their exertions. 
The whole business was accurately discussed, the time 
fixed, and the manner adopted; in short, nothing was want- 
ing to the previous arrangement for this deed of villany, 
when they were aroused by a voice crying aloud — 

“This way. Captain Jack — here are the rascals ating by 
a fire — this way, and murder the tieves where they sit — 
quick, lave your horses and shoot your pistols!” 

This terrific summons was enough to disturb all the phi- 
losophy of the gang. Springing on their feet, they rushed 
deeper into the wood, and having already agreed upon a 
place of rendezvous previously to their intended expedi- 
tion, they dispersed towards the four quarters of the 
heavens. Certain sounds and different voices were heard 
calling on each other, but as the marauders were well 
trained to speed of foot, they were soon lost in the distance. 

It was not long before Betty Flanagan emerged from 
the darkness, and very coolly took possession of what the 
Skinners had left behind them; namely, food and divers 
articles of dress. The washerwoman deliberately seated 
herself, and made a meal with great apparent satisfaction. 
For an hour, she sat with her head upon her hand, in deep 
musing; then she gathered together such articles of the 
clothes as seemed to suit her fancy, and retired into the 
wood, leaving the fire to throw its glimmering light oIVi the 
adjacent rocks, until its last brand died away, and the 
place was abandoned to solitude and darkness. 


CHAPTER XIX 


No longer then perplex the breast — 

When thoughts torment, the first are best; 

’Tis mad to go, ’tis death to stay! 

Away, to Orra, haste away. 

Lapland Love Song. 


While his comrades were sleeping, in perfect forgetful-^ 
ness of their hardships and dangers, the slumbers of Dun-» 
woodie^ were broken and unquiet. After spending a night 
of restlessness, he arose, unrefreshed, from the rude bed 
where he had thrown himself in his clothes, and, without^ 
awaking any of the group around him, he wandered into| 
the open air in search of relief. The soft rays of the moon^ 
were just passing away in the more distinct light of the 
morning; the wind had fallen, and the rising mists gave 
the promise of another of those autumnal days, which, inj 


this unstable climate, succeed a tempest with the rapidj|| 


transitions of magic. The hour had not yet arrived when3| 
he intended moving from his present position; and, willing]^ 
to allow his warriors all the refreshment that circum-l 
stances would permit, he strolled towards the scene of the]^ 
Skinners’ punishment, musing upon the embarrassments of 
his situation, and uncertain how he should reconcile his 


sense of duty with his love. Although Dunwoodie himselL* 


placed the most implicit reliance on the Captain’s ^purity of: 


intention, he was by no means assured that a board of 
officers would be equally credulous; and, independently of 
all feelings of private regard, he felt certain that witli] 
the execution of Henry would be destroyed all hopes of S, 
union with his sister. He had despatched an officer, the| 
preceding evening, to Colonel Singleton, who was in com^ 
mand of the advance posts, reporting the capture of th^ 
British captain, and, after giving his own opinion of hisij 
innocence, requesting orders as to the manner in which heli 


THE SPY 


247 ' 


JL 

was to dispose of his prisoner. These orders might- be 
expected, every hour, and his uneasiness increased, in 
proportion as the moment approached when his friend 
might be removed from his protection. In this disturbed 
state of mind, the Major wandered through the orchard, 
and was stopped in his walk by arriving at the base of 
those rocks which had protected the Skinners in their 
flight before he was conscious whither his steps had carried 
him. He was about to turn, and retrace his path to his 
quarters, when he was startled by a voice, bidding him— 

'‘Stand or di-e!” 

Dunwmodie turned in amazement, and beheld the figure 
of a man placed at a little distance above him on a shelving 
rock, with a musket levelled at himself. The light was not 
yet sufficiently pow^erful to reach the recesses of that 
gloom.y spot, and a second look was necessary before he 
discovered, to his astonishment, that the pedler stood 
before him. Comprehending, in an instant, the danger of 
his situation, and disdaining to implore mercy or to retreat, 
had the' latter been possible, the youth cried firmly — 

“If I am to be murdered, fire! I will never become your 
prisoner.” 

“No, Major Dunwoodie,” said Birch, lowering his mus- 
ket, “it is neither my intention to capture nor to slhy.” 

“What then would you have, mysterious being?” said 
Dunwoodie, hardly able to persuade himself that the form 
he saw was not a creature of the imagination. 

“Your good opinion,” answered the pedler, with emotion; 
“I would wish all good men to judge me with lenity.” 

“To you it must be indifferent what may be the judg- 
ment of men;’ for you seem to be beyond the reach of their 
sentence.” 

“God spares the lives of his servants to his own time,” 
said the pedler, solemnly: “a few hours ago I was your 
prisoner, and threatened with the gallows; now you are 
mine; but. Major D-unwoodie, you are free. There are men 
abroad who would treat you less kindly. Of what service 
would that sword be to you against my weapon and a 
steady hand? Take the advice of one who has never 


^48 


THE SPY 


harmed you, and who never will. Do not trust yhurself in 
the skirts of any wood, unless in company and mounted.” 

“And have you comrades, who have assisted you to 
escape, and who are less generous than yourself?” 

“No — no, 1 am alone truly — none know me but my God 
and Him” 

“And who?” asked the Major, with an interest he could 
not control. 

“None,” continued the pedler, recovering his composure. 
“But such is not your case, Major Dunwoodie; you are 
young and happy; there are those that are dear to you, and 
such are not far away — danger is near them you love most 
— danger within and without; .double your watchfulness—, 
strengthen your patrols — and be silent. With your opinion 
of me, should I tell you more, you would suspect an am- 
bush. But remember and guard them you love best.” 

The pedler discharged the musket in the air, and threw 
it at the feet of his astonished auditor. When surprise 
and the smoke allowed Dunwoodie to look again on the 
rock where he had stood, the spot was vacant. 

The youth was aroused from the stupor, which had beenji 
created by this strange scene, by the trampling of horses, 
and the sound of the bugles. A patrol was drawn to the 
spot by the report of the musket, and the alarm had been 
given to the corps. Without entering into any explana- 
tion with his men, the Major returned quickly to his quar- 
ters, where he found the whole squadron under arms, in 
battle array, impatiently awaiting the appearance of their 
leader. The officer whose duty it was to superintend such 
matters, had directed a party to lower the sign of the . 
Hotel Flanagan, and the post was already arranged for the ; 
execution of the spy. On hearing from the Major that the ! 
musket was discharged by himself, and was probably one 
of those dropped by the Skinners, (for by this time Dun-; 
woodie had learnt the punishment inflicted by Lawton, 
but chose to conceal his own interview with Birch,) his 
officers suggested the propriety of executing their prisoner 
before they marched. Unable to believe that all he had 
seen was not a dream, Dunwoodie, followed by many of 


THE SPY 


249 


[ his officers, and preceded by Sergeant Hollister, went to the 
place which was supposed to contain the pedler. 

I “Well, sir,” said the Major to the sentinel who guarded 
\ the door, “I trust you have your prisoner in safety.” 

J “He is yet asleep,” replied the man, “and he makes such 

: a noise, I could hardly hear the bugles sound the alarm.*' 

’ “Open the door, and bring him forth.” 

i! The order was obeyed; but, to the utter amazement of 

[ the honest veteran who entered the prison, he found the 

I room' in no little disorder — the coat of the pedler where 

I his body ought to have been, and part of the wardrobe of 

^ Betty scattered in disorder on the floor. The washer- 

j' woman herself occupied the pallet, in profound mental 

oblivion, clad as when last seen, excepting a little black 
i' bonnet, which she so constantly wore, that it was com- 

I monly thought she made it perform the double duty of both 

day and~night cap. The noise of their entrance, and the 
f exclamations of the party, awoke the woman. 

[ “Is it the breakfast that’s wanting?” said Betty, rubbing 
; her eyes; “faith, yee look as if yee would ate myself — 

but patience a little, darlings, and ye’ll see sich a fry as 
never was.” 

“Fry!” echoed the Sergeant, forgetful of his religious 
philosophy, and the presence of his officers; “we’ll have 
you roasted, Jezebel! — you’ve helped Ihat damn’d pedler 
to escape.” 

' “Jezebel back agin in your teeth, and damn’d pidler too. 
Mister Sargeant!” cried Betty, who was easily roused; 
“what have I to do with pidlers, or escapes? I might 
have been a pidler’s lady, and worn my silks, if I’d had 
Sawny M’Twill, instead of tagging at the heels of a parcel 
of dragooning rapscallions, who don’t know how to trate 
a lone body with dacency.” 

“The fellow has left my Bible,” said the veteran, taking 
the book from the floor; “instead of spending his time in 
reading it to prepare for his end, like a good Christian, he 
has been busy in labouring to escape.” 

“And who would stay and be hanged like a dog?” cried 
Betty, beginning to comprehend the case; “ ’tisn’t every one 


250 


THE SPY 


that’s horn to meet with sich an ind — like yourself, Mister 
Hollister.” 

“Silence!” said Dunwoodie. “This must be enquired into 
closely, gentlemen; there is no outlet but the door, and 
there he could not pass, unless the sentinel connived at his 
escape, or was asleep on his post: — call up fhe guard.” 

-As these men were not paraded, curiosity had already 
drawn them to the place, and they one and all, with the 
exception of him before mentioned, denied that any per- 
son had passed out. The individual in question acknowl- 
edged that Betty had gone by him, but pleaded his orders 
in justification. 

“You lie, you tief — you lie!” shouted Betty, who had i. 
impatiently listened to his exculpation; “would yee slan- h 
derise a lone woman, by saying she walks a camp at mid- 
night? — Here have I been slaaping the long night, sweetly 
as the sucking babe.” 

“Here, sir,” said the Sergeant, turning respectfully to 
Dunwoodie, “is something written in my Bible that w’as 
not in it before; for having no family to record, I would 
never suffer any scribbling in the sacred book.” 

One of the officers read aloud — ''These certify, that if 
suffered to get free, it is hy God's help alone, to whose 
'divine aid I humbly riccommind myself. Fm forced to take 
the woman's clothes, hut in her pocket is a ricompinse . — 
Witness my hand — Harvey Birch." 

“What!” roared Betty, “has the tief robbed a lone woman 
of her all? — hang him — catch him and ‘hang him. Major; 
if there’s law or justice in the land.” 

“Examine your pocket,” said one of the youngsters, who I 
w^as enjoying the scene, careless of the consequences. ' 

“Ah! faith,” cried the washerwoman, producing a guinea, 1 
“but he is a jewel of a pidler! Long life and a brisk trade j 
to him, say I; he is wilcome to the duds — and if he is ever I 
hanged, many a bigger rogue will go free.” 

Dunwoodie turned to leave the apartment, and he saw | 
Captain Lawton standing with folded arms, contemplating I 
the scene in profound silence. His manner, so different i 
from his usual impetuosity and zeal, struck his commander i 


THE SPY 


251 


as singular. Their eyes met, and they walked together for 
a few minutes in close conversation, when Dunwoodie re- 
turned, and dismissed the guard to their place of rendez- 
vous. Sergeant Hollister, however, continued along with 
Betty, who, having found none of her vestments disturbed 
but such as the guinea more than paid for, was in high 
good-humour. The washerwoman had for a long time 
looked on the veteran with the eyes of affection; and she 
had determined within herself to remove certain delicate 
objections which had long embarrassed her peculiar situa- 
tion, as respected the corps, by making the Sergeant the 
successor of her late husband. For some time past the 
trooper had seemed to flatter this preference; and Betty, 
conceiving that her violence might have mortified her 
suitof-, was determined to make him all the amends in her 
power. Besides, rough and uncouth as she was, the washer- 
woman had still enough of the sex to know that the mo- 
ments of reconciliation were the moments of power. She ' 
therefore poured out a glass of her morning beverage, and 
handed it to -her companion as a peace-offering. 

“A few warm words between frinds are a trifle, yee must 
be knowing, Sargeant,” said the washerwoman; “it was 
Michael Flanagan that I ever calumnated the most when 
I was loving him the best.” 

“Michael was a good soldier and a brave man,” said the 
trooper, finishing the glass; “our troop was covering the 
flank of his regiment when he fell, and I rode over his 
body myself during the day; poor fellow! he lay on his 
back, and looked as composed as if he had died a natural 
death after a year’s consumption.” 

“Oh! Michael was a great consumer, and be sartain; 
two such as us make dreadful inroads in the stock, Sar- 
geant. But yee’r a sober discrate man. Mister Hollister, 
and would be a helpmate indeed.” 

“Why, Mrs. Flanagan, I’ve tarried to speak on a sub- 
ject that lies heavy at my heart, and I will now ope^n my 
mind, if you’ve leisure to listen.” 

“Is it listen?” cried the impatient woman; “and I’d 
listen to you, Sargeant, if the officers never ate another 


252 


THE SPY 


mouthful: but take a second drop, dear, ’twill encourage 
to spake freely.” 

/ “I am already bold enough in so good a cause,” returned 
the veteran, rejecting her bounty. “Betty, do you think 
it was really the Pedler-Spy that I placed in this room, the ■ 
last night?” 

“And who should it be else, darling?” 

“The evil one.” , 

rWhat, the'divil?” 

“Ay, even Belzebub, disguised as the pedler; and them ; 
fellows we thought to be Skinners were his imps!” 

“Well sure, Sargeant dear, yee’r but little out this time, ! 
any way; for if the divil’s imps go at large in the county ^ 
West-Chester, sure it is the Skinners, themselves.” i 

“Mrs. Flanagan, I mean in their incarnate spirits; the ji 
evil one knew that there was no one we would arrest sooner j: 
than the pedler Birch, and he took on his appearance to 
gain admission to your room.” r 

“And what should the divil be wanting of me?” cried 
Betty, tartly; “and isn’t there divils enough in the corps jj 
already, without one’s coming from the bottomless pit to i\ 
frighten a lone body?” !; 

“ ’Twas in mercy to you, Betty, that he was permitted i 
to come. You see he vanished through the door in your p 
form, which is a symbol of your fate, unless you mend your 
life. Oh! I noticed how he trembled when I gave him the 
good book. Would any Christian, think you, my dear I 
Betty, write in a Bible in this way; unless it might be the ij 
matter of births and deaths, and such lawful chronicles?” I 
The washerwoman was pleased with the softness of her i 
lover’s manner, but dreadfully scandalised at his insinua- : | 
tion. She, however, preserved her temper, and with the [ 
quickness of her own country’s people, rejoined — 

“And would the divil have paid for the clothes, think ; 
ye? — ay, and overpaid.” I 

“Doubtless the money is base,” said the Sergeant, a i' 
little staggered at such ah evidence of honesty in one of I 
whom, as to generals, he thought so meanly. “He tempted iji 


THE SPY 


253 


ii 

I me with his glittering coin, but the Lord gave me strength 
to resist.” 

•‘The goold looks well; but I’ll change it, any way, with 
I Captain Jack, the day. He is niver a bit afeard of any 
l^livil of them all!” 

“Betty, Betty,” said her companion, “do not speak so 
^ lisreverently of the evil spirit; he is ever at hand, ana will 
owe you a grudge, for your language.” 

“Pooh! if he has any bowels at all, he won’t mind a 
fillip or two from a poor lone woman: I’m sure no other 
Christian would.” % 

I “But the dark one has no bowels, except to devour the 
children of men,” said the Sergeant, looking around him 
.in horror; “and it’s best to make friends everywhere, for 
there is no telling what may happen till it comes. But, 
Betty, no man could have got out of this place, and passed 
all the sentinels without being known ; take awful warn- 
I ing from the visit, therefore — ” 

Here the dialogue was interrupted by a peremptory sum- 
: mons to the sutler to prepare the morning’s repast, and 
' they were obliged to separate; the woman secretly hoping 
' that the interest the Sergeant manifested was more earthly 
than he imagined, and the man, bent on saving a soul from 
the fangs of the dark spirit that was prowling through 
their camp in quest of victims. " ■ 

During the breakfast several expresses arrived, one of 
which brought intelligence of the actual force and destina- 
tion of the enemy’s expedition that was out on the Hud- 
son; and another, orders to send Captain Wharton to the 
first ipost above, under the escort of a body of dragoons. 
These last instructions, or rather commands, for they ad- 
mitted of no departure from their letter, completed the 
sum of Dunwoodie’s uneasiness. The despair and misery 
of Prances were constantly before his eyes, and fifty times 
he was tempted to throw himself on his horse and gallop 
to the Locusts; but. an uncontrollable feeling pi'evented. 
In obedience to the commands of his superior, an officer, 
with a small party, was sent to the cottage to conduct 
Henry Wharton to the place directed; and the gentlemaa 


254 


THE SPY 


who was intrusted with the execution of the order w'as j 
^charged with a letter from Dunwoodie to his friend, con-;. I 
taining the most cheering assurances of his safety, as well J 
;as the strongest pledges of his own unceasing exertions inj ! 
his favour. Lawton was left with part of his own troop, ' i 
in charge of the few wounded; and as soon as the men^?j 
were refreshed, the encampment broke up, the main body|i; 
marching towards the Hudson. Dunwoodie repeated hisrlj 
injunctions to Captain Lawtdnf again and again — dwelt on*!; 
every word that had fallen from the pedler, and canvassed, ° '! 
in every possible manner that his ingenuity could devise,' jj 
the probable meaning of his mysterious warnings, until 
no excuse remained for delaying his own departure. Sud-^ f 
denly recollecting, however, that no directions had been “ 
given for the disposal of Colonel Wellmere, instead of fob; \ 
lowing the rear of the column, the Major yielded to his';; 
desires, and turned down the road which led to the Locusts.'; ^ 
The horse of Dunwoodie was fleet as the wind, and scarcely^ ! 
a minute seemed to have passed before he gained sight, | 
from an eminence, of the lonely vale, and as he w'as plung-|| 
ing into the bottom lands that formed its surface, he caught^;; 
a glimpse of Henry Wharton and his escort, at a distance,|! 
defiling through a pass which led to the posts above. This^ . 
sight added to the speed of the anxious youth, who now 1 
turned the angle of the hill that opened to the valley, and I 
came suddenly on the object of his search. Prances had 
followed the party which guarded her brother at a dis- i 
tance; and as they vanished from her sight, she felt de- 
serted by all that she most prized in this world. The un- 
accountable absence of Dunwoodie, with the shock of part- 
ing from Henry under such circumstances, had entirely 
subdued her fortitude, and she had sunk on a stone by the 
roadside, sobbing as if her heart would break. Dunwoodie 
sprang from his charger, threw the reins over the neck of 
the animal, and in a moment he was by the side of the 
weeping girl. 

“Frances — my own Frances!” he exclaimed, “why this 
distress? — let not the situation of your brother create any 
alarm. As soon as the duty I am now on is complete, I 


THE SPY 


255 


will hasten to the feet of Washington, and beg his release. 
* The Father of his Country wdll never deny such a boon to 
||one of his favourite pupils.” , 

“Major Dunwoodie, for your interest in behalf of my 
poor brother, I thank you,” said the trembling girl, drying 
II her eyes, and rising with dignity; “but such language ad- 
' dressed to me, surely, is improper.” 

“Improper! are you not mine — by the consent of your 
I father — your aunt — your brother — nay, by your own con- 
f sent, my sweet Frances?” 

“I wish not. Major Dunwoodie, to interfere with the 
prior claims that any other lady may have to your affec- 
tions,” said Frances, struggling to speak with firmness. 

“None 'other, I swear by Heaven, none other has any 
claim on me!” cried Dunwoodie, with fervour; “you alone 
are mistress of my inmost soul.” 

“You have practised so much, and so successfully. Major 
Dunwoodie, that it is no wonder you excel in deceiving 
the credulity of my sex,” returned Frances, attempting a 
smile, which the tremulousness of her muscles smothered 
in its birth. 

“Am I a villain. Miss Wharton, that you receive me 
with such language? — when have I ever deceived you, 
Frances? who has practised in this manner on your purity 
of heart?” , 

“Why has not Major Dunwoodie honoured the dwelling 
of his intended father with his presence lately? Did he 
forget it contained one friend on a bed of sickness, and an- 
other in deep distress? Has it escaped his memory that 
it held his intended wife? Or is he fearful of meeting more 
than one that can lay a claim to that title? Oh, Peyton — 
Peyton, how have I been deceived in you! with the foolish 
credulity of my youth, I thought you all that was brave, 
noble, generous, and loyal.” 

“Frances, I see how you have deceived yourself,” cried 
Dunwoodie, his face in a glow of fire; “you do me injus- 
tice; I swear by all that is most dear to me, that you do 
me injustice.” 

“Swear not, Major Dunwoodie,” interrupted Frances, her 


256 


THE SPY 


1 


fine countenance lighting with the lustre of womanlyl 
pride; “the time is gone by for me to credit oaths.” 

•“Miss Wharton, v/ould you have me a coxcomb — make me , 
contemptible in my own eyes, by boasting with the hope ' 
of raising myself in your estimation?” 

“Flatter not yourself that the task is so easy, sir,” re- 1 
turned Prances, moving towards the cottage; “we con- ■ 
verse together in private for the last time; — but — possibly 
— my father would welcome my mother’s kinsman.” 

“No, Miss Wharton, I cannot enter his dwelling now: I 
should act in a manner unworthy of myself. You drive 
me from you. Prances, in despair. I am going on desperate 
service, and may not live to return. Should fortune prove : 
severe, at least do my memory justice; remember that the' 
last breathings of my soul will be for your happiness.” 
So saying, he had already placed his foot in the stirrup, 
but his youthful mistress turning on him an eye that 
pierced his soul, arrested the action. 

“Peyton — Major Dunwoodie,” 'she said, “can you ever 
forget the sacred cause in which you are enlisted? Duty 
both to your God and to your country forbids you doing • 
any thing rashly. The latter has need of your services; 
besides — ” but her voice became choked, and she was un- 
able to proceed. 

“Besides what?” echoed the youth, springing to her side, 
and offering to take her hand in his own. Frances having, 
however, recovered herself, coldly repulsed him and con- 
tinued her walk homeward. 

“Is this our parting!” cried Dunwoodie, in agony; “am 
I a wretch, that you treat me so cruelly? You have never 
loved me, and wish to conceal your own fickleness by accu- 
sations that you will not explain.” 

Frances stopped short in her walk, and turned on him 
a look of so much purity and feeling, that, heart-stricken, 
Dunwoodie would have knelt at her feet for pardon; but 
motioning him for silence, she once more spoke — 

“Hear me, Major Dunwoodie, for the last time; it is a 
bitter knowledge when we first discover our own inferior- 
ity; but it is a truth that I have lately learnt. Against 


THE SPY 


257 


you I bring no charges — make no accusations; no, not 
willingly in my thoughts. Were my claims to your heart 
■ just, I am not worthy of you. It is not a feeble, timid 
girl, like me, that could make you happy. No, Peyton, you 
:: are formed for great and glorious actions, deeds of daring 
and renown, and should be united to a soul like your own; 

. one that can rise above the weakness of her sex. I should 
be a weight to drag you to the dust; but with a different 
I spirit in your companion, you might soar to the very pin- 
nacle of earthly glory. To such a one, therefore, I resign 
you freely, if not cheerfully; and pray, oh, how fervently 
do I pray! that with such a one you may be happy.” 
“Lovely enthusiast!” cried Dunwoodie, “you know not 

I yourself, nor me. It is a woman, mild, gentle, and de- 
Piendent as yourself, that my very nature loves; deceive 
not yourself with visionary ideas of generosity, which will 
only make me miserable.” 

; “Farewell, Major Dunwoodie,” said the agitated girl, 

\ pausing for ^ moment to gasp for breath; “forget that you 
ever knew me — remember the claims of your bleeding 
country; and be happy.” 

“Happy!” repeated the youthful soldier, bitterly, as he 
saw her light form gliding through the gate of the lawn, 

' and disappearing behind its shrubbery: “yes, I am now 
■ happy, indeed!” 

Throwing himself into the saddle, he plunged his spurs 
' into his horse, and soon overtook his squadron, which was 
marching slowly over the hilly roads of the country, to 
gain the banks of the Hudson. 

But painful as were the feelings of Dunwoodie at this 
unexpected termination of the interview with his mistress, 
they were but light compared with those which were 
experienced by the fond girl herself. Frances had, with the 
keen eye of jealous love, easily detected the attachment of 
Isabella Singleton to Dunwoodie. Delicate and retiring 
herself, it never could present itself to her mind that this 
love had been unsought. Ardent in her own affections, 
and artless in their exhibition, she had early caught the 
eye of the young soldier; but it required all the manly 


258 


THE SPY 



frankness of Dunwoodie to court her favour, and the .most ' 
pointed devotion to obtain his conquest. This done, his| 
power was durable, entire, and engrossing. But the un-i 
usual occurrences of the few preceding days, the alteredSi 
mien of her lover during those events, his unwonted in^^l 
difference to herself, and chiefly the romantic idolatry oflj 
Isabella, had aroused new sensations in her bosom. Withl| 
a dread of her lover’s integrity had been awakened the?}j 
never-failing concomitant of the purest affection, a dis-li' 
trust of her own merits. In the moment of enthusiasm,^ 
the task of resigning her lover to another, who might bOui 
more worthy of him, seemed easy; but it is in vain thatlj 
the imagination attempts to deceive the heart. Dunwoodie^ 
had no sooner disappeared, than our heroine felt all thejj 
misery of her situation; and if the youth found some relief? [ 
in the cares of his command, Frances was less fortunate in|[| 
the performance of a duty imposed on her by filial piety. 
The removal of his son had nearly destroyed the little 
energy of Mr. Wharton, who required all the tenderness of ? 
his remaining children to convince him that he was able j 
to perform the ordinary functions of life. ! 




Platter and praise, commend, extol their graces, 
Though ne'er so black, say they have angels’ faces; 
That man who hath a tongue 1 say is no man. 

If with that tongue he cannot win a woman. 


CHAPTER XX 


Two Gentlemen of Verona. 


In making the arrangements by which Captain Lawton 
had been left, with Sergeant Hollister and twelve men, as 
a guard over the wounded, and heavy baggage of the corps, 
Dunwoodie had consulted not only the information which 
had been conveyed in the letter of Colonel ^ingleton, but 
the bruises of his comrade’s body. In vain Lawton declared 
himself fit for any duty that man could perform, or plainly 
intimated that his men would never follow Tom Mason to 
a charge with the alacrity and confidence with which they 
followed himself; his commander was firm, and the reluc- 
tant Captain was compelled to comply with as good a grace 
as he could assume. Before parting, Dunwoodie repeated 
his caution to keep a watchful eye on the inmates of the 
cottage; and especially enjoined him, if any movements of 
a particularly suspicious nature were seen in the neighbour- 
hood, to break up from his present quarters, and to move 
down with his party, and take possession of the domains of 
Mr. Wharton. A vague suspicion of danger to the family 
had been awakened in the breast of the Major, by the 
language of the pedler, although he' was unable to refer it 
to any particular source, or to understand why it was to be 
apprehended. 

For some time after the departure of the troops, the 
Captain was walking before the door of the “Hotel,” in- 
wardly cursing his fate, that condemned him to an inglori- 
ous idleness, at a moment when a meeting with the enemy 
might be expected, and replying to the occasional queries 
of Betty, who, from the interior of the building, ever and 


259 


260 


THE SPY 


' I 

. ^ f 

anon demanded, in a high tone of voice, an explanation of - 
various passages in the pedler’s escape, which as yet she| 
could not comprehend. At this instant he was joined by i 
the surgeon, who had hitherto been engaged among his | 
patients in a distant building, and whs profoundly ignorant j 
of every thing that had occurred, even to the departure of i 
the troops. 1 

"‘Where are all the sentinels, John?” he enquired, as he | 
gazed around with a look of curiosity, "“and why are you i 
here, alone?” ' • | 

“Off — all off, with Dunwoodie, to the river. You and I are 
left here to take care of a few sick men and some women.” 

“I am glad, however,” said the surgeon, “that Major Dun- 
woodie had consideration enough not to move the wounded. 
Here, you Mrs. Elizabeth Flanagan, hasten with some food, 
that 1 may appease my appetite. I have a dead body to 
dissect, and am in haste.” 

“And here, you Mister Doctor Archibald Sitgreavqs,” 
echoed Betty, showing her blooming countenance from a | 
broken window of the kitchen, “you are ever a coming too I 
late; here is nothing to ate but the skin of Jenny, and the j 
body yee’r mintioning.” ,i 

“Woman!” said the surgeon, in anger, “do you take me 
for a cannibal, that you address your filthy discourse to 
me, in this manner? I bid you hasten with such food as 
may be proper to be received into the stomach fasting.” 

“And I’m sure it’s for a pop-gun that I should be taking 
you sooner than for a cannon-ball,” said Betty, winking at 
the Captain; “and I tell yee that it’s fasting you must be, 
unless yee’l let me cook yee a steak from the skin of Jenny. 
The boys have ate me up intirely.” 

Lawton now interfered to preserve the peace, and assured 
the surgeon that he had already despatched the proper per- 
sons in quest of food for the party. A little mollified with 
this explanation, the operator soon forgot his hunger, and' 
declared his intention of proceeding to business at once. 
“And where is your subject?” asked Lawton. 

“The pedler,” said the other, glancing a look at the sign- 
post. “I made Hollister put a stage so high that the neck ' 

1 


THE 8Py 


261 


i would not be dislocated by the fall, and I intend making 
as handsome a skeleton of him, as there is in the States of 
North America; the fellow has good points, and his bones 
are well knit. I will make a perfect beauty of him. I have 
i long been wanting something of this sort to send as a 
[ present to my old aunt in Virginia, who was so kind to me 
when a boy.” 

“The devil!” cried Lawton; “would you send the old 
woman a dead man’s bones?” , 

“Why not?” said the surgeon; “what nobler object is 
there in nature than the figure of a man — and the skeleton 
may be called his elementary parts. But what has been 
done with the body?” 

“Off too.” I 

“Off! and who has dared to interfere with, my perqui- 
sites f’ 

“Sure, jist the divil,” said Betty; “and who’ll be taking: 
yeerself away some of these times too, without asking yeer 
lave.” 

“Silence, you witch!” said Lawton, with difficulty sup- ' 
pressing a laugh; “is this the manner in which to address 
an officer?” 

“Who called me the filthy Elizabeth Flanagan?” cried the 
washerwoman, snapping her fingers contemptuously; “I can 
remimber a frind for a year, and don’t forgit an inimy for a 
month’” 

“But the friendship, or enmity of Mrs. Flanagan was 
alike indifferent to the surgepn, who could think of nothing 
but his loss; and Lawton was obliged to explain to his 
friend the apparent manner in which it had happened. 

“And a lucky escape it was for yee, my jewel of a doc- 
tor,” cried Betty, as the Captain concluded. “Sargeant 
Hollister, who saw him face to face, as it might be, says 
it’s Beelzeboob, and no pidler, unless it may be in a small 
matter of, lies and thefts, and sich wickedness. Now a 
pretty figure yee would have been in cutting up Beelze- 
boob, if the Major had hanged him. I don’t think it’s very 
asy he would have been under yeer knife.” • 

Thus doubly disappointed in his meal and his business. 


262 


THE SPY 


Sitgreaves suddenly declared his intention of visiting thej 
“Locusts,” and enquiring into the state of Captain Single-l 
ton. Lawton w'as ready for the excursion; and mounting, I 
they were soon on the road, though the surgeon was obliged ( 
to submit to a few more jokes from the washerwoman,! 
before he could get out of hearing. For some time the two I 
rode in silence, when Lawton, perceiving that his compan-y 
ion’s temper was somewhat ruffled by his disappointments 
and Betty’s attack, made an effort to restore the tranquillity 
of his feelings. 

“That was a charming song, Archibald, that you com- 
menced last evening, when we were interrupted by the 
party that brought in the pedler,” he said: “the allusion to 
Galen was much to the purpose.” , , 

“I knew you would like it. Jack, when you had got the 
fumes of the wdne out of your head. Poetry is a rdfepect^ 
able art, though it wants the precision of thd exact sciences, 
and the natural beneficence of the physical. Considered in 
reference to the wants of life, I should define poetry as an 
emollient, rather than as a succulent.” 

“And yet your ode was full of the meat of wit.” 

“Ode is by no means a proper term for the composition; 

I should term it a classical ballad.” i 

“Very probably,” said the trooper; “hearing only one 
verse, it was difficult to class the composition.’! 

The surgeon involuntarily hemmed, and began to clear 
his throat, although scarcely conscious himself to what the 
preparation tended. But the Captain, rolling his dark eyes 
towards his companion, and observing him to be sitting 
with great uneasiness on his horse, continued — 

“The air is still, and the road solitary — why not give the | 
remainder? It is never too late to repair a loss.” 

“My dear John, if I thought it would correct the errors 
you have imbibed, from habit and indulgence, nothing 
could give me more pleasure.” 

“We are fast approaching some rocks on our left; the 
echo will double my satisfaction.” * , 

Thus encouraged, and somewhat inipelled by the opinion 
that he both sang and wrote with taste, the surgeon set 


THE SPY 


263 


about complying with the request in sober earnest. Some 
little time was lost in clearing hjs throat, and getting the 
proper pitch of his voice; but no sooner were these two 
points achieved, than Lawton had the secret delight of 
hearing his friend commence — 

‘Hast thou ever — ’ ’’ 

“Hush!” interrupted the trooper; “what rustling noise is 
that among the rocks?” 

“It must have been the rushing of the melody. A power- 
ful voice is like the breathing of the winds. 

‘Hast thou ever — ^ ” 

“Listen!” said Lawton, stopping, his horse. He had not 
done speaking, when a stdne fell at his feet, and rolled 
harmlessly across the path. 

“A friendly shot, that,” cried the trooper; “neither the 
Weapon, nor its force, implies much ill-will.” 

“Blows from stones seldom produce more than • contu- 
sions,” said the operator, binding his gaze in every direc- 
tion in vain, in quest of the hand from which the missile 
had been hurled; “it must be meteoric; there is no living 
being in sight, except ourselves.” 

“It would be easy to hide a regiment behind those rocks,” 
returned the trooper, dismounting, and taking the stone in 
his hand — “Oh! here is the explanation along with the 
mystery.” So saying, he tore a piece of paper that had 
been ingeniously fastened to the small fragment of rock 
which had thus singularly fallen before him; and opening 
it, the Captain read the following words, written in no very 
legible hand — 

“A musket bullet will go farther than a stone, and things 
more dangerous than yards for wounded men lie hid in the 
rocks of West-Chester. The horse m,ay be good, but can he 
mount a precipice?” 

“Thou sayest the truth, strange man,” said Lawton; 
“courage and activity would avail but little against assassi- 
nation and these rugged passes.” Remounting his horse, 
he cried aloud — “Thanks, unknown friend; your caution 
will be remembered.” 

A meagre hand was extended for an instant over a rock. 


264 


THE SPY 


in the air, and afterwards nothing further was seen, or 
heard, in that quarter, by the soldiers. 

“Quite an extraordinary interruption,” said the astonished 
Sitgreaves, “and a letter of a very mysterious meaning.” 

“Oh! ’tis nothing but the wit of some bumpkin, who 
thinks to frighten two of the Virginians by an artifice of^ 
this kind,” said the trooper, placing the billet in his pocket; 
“but let me tell you, Mr. Archibald Sitgreaves, you were 
wanting to dissect, just now, a damn’d honest fellow.” 

“It was the pedler — one of the most notorious spies in the 
enemy’s service; and I'must say, that I think it would be an 
honour to such a man to be devoted to the uses of science.” 

“He may be a spy — he must be one,” said Lawton, musing; 
“but he has a heart above enmity, and a soul that would 
honour a soldier.” 

The surgeon turned a vacant eye on his companion as 
he uttered this soliloquy, while the penetrating looks of 
the trooper had already discovered another pile of rocks, 
which, jutting forward, nearly obstructed the highway that 
wound directly around its base. 

“What the steed cannot mount, the foot of man can over- 
come,” exclaimed the wary partisan. Thro'wing himself 
again from his saddle, and leaping a wall of stone, he began 
to ascend the hill at a pace which would soon have given 
him a bird’s-eye view of the rocks in question, together with 
all their crevices. This movement was no sooner made, 
than Lawton caught a glimpse of the figure of a man 
stealing rapidly from his approach, and disappearing on 
the opposite side of the precipice. 

“Spur, Sitgreaves — spur,” shouted the trooper, dashing 
over every impediment in pursuit, “and murder the villain 
as he flies.” 


The former part of the request was promptly complied 1 
with, and a few moments brought the surgeon in full view 
of a man armed with a musket, who was crossing the road, 
and evidently seeking the protection of the thick wood on 
its opposite side. 

“Stop, my friend — stop until Captain Lawton comes up, 
if you please,” cried the surgeon, observing him to flee with | 


THE SPY 


265 


a rapidity that baffled his horsemanship. But as if the 
invitation contained new terrors, the footman redoubled his 
efforts, nor paused even to breathe, until he had reached 
his goal,' when, turning on his heel, he discharged his 
musket towards the surgeon, and was out of sight in an 
instant. To gain the highw^ay, and throw himself into his 
saddle, detained Lawton but a moment, and he rode to the 
side of his comrade just as the figure disappeared. 

“Which way has he fled?” cried the trooper. 

“John,” said the surgeon, “am I not a non-combatant?” 

“Whither has the rascal fled?” cried Lawton, impatiently. 

“Where you cannot follow — into that wood. But I repeat, 
John, am I not a non-combatant?” 

The disappointed trooper, perceiving that his enemy had 
escaped him, now turned his eyes, which were flashing with 
anger, upon his comrade, and gradually his muscles lost 
1 their rigid compression, his brow relaxed, and his look 
changed from its fierce expression, to the covert laughter 
which so often distinguished his countenance. The surgeon 
sat in dignified composure on his horse; his thin body 
erect, and his head elevated wdth the indignation of one 
conscious of having been unjustly treated. * 

“Why did you suffer the villain to escape?” demanded the 
Captain. “Once within reach of my sabre, and I would 
have given you a subject for the dissecting table.” 

“ ’Twas impossible to prevent it,” said the surgeon, point- 
ing to the bars, before which he had stopped his horse. — 
“The rogue threw himself on the other side of this fence, 
and left me where you see; nor would the man in the least 
attend to my remonstrances, or to an intimation that you 
wished to hold discourse wdth him.” 

“He was truly a discourteous rascal; but why did you not 
' leap the fence, and compel him to a halt? — you see but three 
of the bars are up, and Betty Flanagan could clear them on 
her cow.” 

The surgeon, for the first time, withdrew his eyes from 
the place where the fugitive had disappeared, and turned 
his look on his comrade. His head, however, was not per- 
mitted to lower itself in the least, as he replied— 


266 


THE SPY/" 


‘T humbly conceive, Captain Lawton, that neither Mrs. l 
Elizabeth Flanagan, nor her cow, is an example to be emu- j 
lated by Dr. Archibald Sitgreaves: it would be but a sorry ] 
compliment to science, to say, that a Doctor of Medicine ( 
had fractured both his legs, by injudiciously striking them ] 
against a pair of bar-posts.” While speaking, the surgeon | 
raised the limbs in question to a nearly horizontal position, | 
an attitude which really appeared to bid defiance to any 
thing like a passage for himself through the defile; but the 
trooper, disregarding this ocular proof of the impossibility 
of the movement, cried hastily — 

“Here was nothing to stop you, man; I could leap a 
platoon through, boot and thigh, without pricking with 
a single spur. Pshaw! I have often charged upon the 
bayonets of infantry, over greater difficulties than this.” 

“You will please to remember. Captain John Lawton, that 
I am not the riding-master of the regiment — nor a drill ser- t 
geant — nor a crazy cornet; no, sir — and I speak it with a [ 
due respect for the commission of the continental Con- : 
gress — nor an inconsiderate captain, who regards has own 
life as little as that of his enemies. I am only, sir, a poor 
humble man of letters, a mere Doctor of Medicine, an un- 1 
worthy graduate of Edinburgh, and a surgeon of dragoons; 
nothing more, I do assure you. Captain John Lawton.” So 
saying, he turned his horse’s head towards the cottage, and 
recommenced his ride. 

“Ay! you speak the truth,” muttered the dragoon; “had ! 
I but the meanest rider of my troop with me, I should have ’ 
taken the scoundrel, and given at least one victim to the | 
laws. But, Archibald, no man can ride well who straddles i 
in this manner like the Colossus of Rhodes. You should ! 
depend less on your stirrup, and keep you seat by the power * 
of the knee.” ! 

“With proper deference to your experience, Captain Law- ! 
ton,” returned the surgeon, “I conceive myself to be no | 
incompetent judge of muscular action, whether in the knee, j 
or any other part of the human frame. And although but ' 
humbly educated, I am not now to learn that the wider the | 
base, the more firm is the superstructure.” | 


THE SPY 


267 


“Would you fill a highway, in this manner, with one pair 
of legs, when half a dozen might pass together in comfort, 
stretching them abroad like the scythes of the ancient 
chariot wheels?” 

The allusion to the practice of the ancients somewhat 
softened the indignation of the surgeon, and he replied, 
with rather less hauteur — . 

“You should speak with reverence of the usages of those 
who have gone before us, and who, however ignorant they 
were in matters of science, and particularly that of surgery, 
yet furnished many brilliants hints to our own improve- 
ments. Now, sir, I have no doubt that Galen has operated 
on wounds occasioned by these very scythes that you men- 
tion, although we caii find np evidence of the fact in con- 
temporary writers. Ah! they must have given dreadful 
injuries, and, I doubt not, caused great uneasiness to the 
medical gentlemen of that day.” 

“Occasionally a body must have been left in two pieces, 
to puzzle the ingenuity of those gentry to unite. Yet, vener- 
able and learned as they were, I doubt not they did it.” 

“What! unite two parts of the human body, that have 
been severed by an edged instrument, to any of the pur- 
poses of animal life?” 

“That have been rent asunder by a scythe, and are united 
to do military duty,” said Lawton. 

“ ’Tis impossible — quite impossible,” cried the surgeon; 
“it is in vain. Captain Lawt9n, that human ingenuity em 
deavours to baffle the efforts of nature. Think, my dear sir, 
in this case you separate all the arteries — injure all of the 
intestines — sever all of the nerves and sinews, and, what 
is of more consequence, you — ” 

“You have said enough, Dr. Sitgreaves, to convince a 
member of a rival school. Nothing shall every tempt me 
willingly tp submit to be divided in this irretrievable 
manner.” 

“Certes, there is little pleasure in a wound which, from 
its nature, is incurable.” 

“I should think so,” said Lawton dryly. 


?68 


THE SPY 


“What do you think is the greatest pleasure in life?” 
asked the operator suddenly. 

“That must greatly depend on taste.” 

“Not at all,” cried the surgeon; “it is in witnessing, or 
rather feeling, the ravages of disease repaired by the lights 
of science co-operating with nature. I once broke my little 
finger intentionally, in order that I might reduce the frac- 
ture and watch the cure: it was only on a small scale, you 
know, dear John; still the thrilling sensation excited by 
the knitting of the bone, aided by the contemplation of the 
art of man thus acting in unison with nature, exceeded any 
other enjoyment that I have ever experienced. Now, had it 
been one of the more important members, such as the. leg 
or arm, how much greater must the pleasure have been?” 

“Or the neck,” said the trooper; but their desultory dis-. 
course was interrupted by their arrival at the cottage of 
Mr.* Wharton. No one appearing to usher them into an 
apartment, the Captain proceeded to the door of the par- 
lour, where he knew visitors were commonly received. On ^ 
opening it, he paused for a moment, in admiration of the 
scene within. .The person of Colonel Wellmere first met 
his eye, bending towards the figure of the blushing Sarah, . 
with an earnestness of manner that prevented the noise of . 
Lawton’s entrance from being heard by either of the parties. 
Certain significant signs, which were embraced at a glance 
by the prying gaze of the trooper, at once made him a 
master of their secret; and he was about to retire as 
‘silently as he had advanced, when his companion, pushing 
himself through the passage, abruptly entered the room. 
Advancing instantly to the chair of Wellmere, the surgeon 
instinctively laid hold of his arm, and exclaimed — 

“Bless me! — a quick and irregular pulse — fiushed cheek 
and fiery eye — strong febrile symptoms, and such as must 
be attended to.” While speaking, the doctor, who was . 
much addicted to practising in a summary way, — a weak-', 
ness of most medical men in military practice, — had already 
produced his lancet, and was making certain other indica-^ 
tions of his intentions to proceed at once to business. But 


THE SPY 


269 


Colonel Wellmere, recovering from the confusion of the 
surprise, arose frdm his seat haughtily, and said— 

“Sir, it is the warmth of the room that lends me the 
colour, and I am already too much indebted to your skill 
to give you any farther trouble; Miss Wharton knows that 
I am quite well, and I do assure you that I never felt better 
or happier in my life.” 

^ There was a peculiar emphasis on the latter part of this 
speech, that, however it might gratify the feelings of Sarah, 
brought the colour to her cheeks again; and Sitgreaves, as 
his eye followed the direction of those of his patient, did 
not fail to observe it. 

“Your arm. if you please, madam,” said the surgeon, 
advancing with a bow; “anxiety and watching have done 
their work on your delicate' frame, and there are symptoms 
about you that must not be neglected.” 

“Excuse me, sir,” said Sarah, recovering herself with 
womanly pride; “the heat is oppressive, and I will retire 
and acquaint Miss Pej’^ton with your presence.” 

There was but little difficulty in practising on the ab- 
stracted simplicity of the surgeon; but it was necessary 
for Sarah to raise her eyes to return the salutation of 
Lawton, as he bowed his head nearly to a level with the 
hand that held open the door for her passage. One look 
was sufficient; she was able to control her steps sufficiently 
to retire with dignitj’’; but no sooner was she relieved from 
the presence of all observers, than she fell into a chair, 
and abandoned herself to a feeling of mingled shame and 
pleasure. 

A little nettled at the contumacious deportment of the 
British Colonel, Sitgreaves, after once more tendering serv- 
ices that were again rejected, withdrew to the chamber of 
young Singleton, whither Lawton had already preceded him. 


CHAPTER XXI 






Oh! Henry, when you deign ’st to sue, 

Can I thy suit withstand? 

When thou, lovM youth, hast won my heart, 

Can I refuse my hand? 

Hermit of Warkworth. ' 

The graduate of Edinburgh found his patient rapidly 
improving in health, and entirely free from fever. HiS' 
sister, with a cheek that was, if possible, paler than on her^ 
arrival, watched around his couch with tender care; and^ 
the ladies of the cottage had not, in the midst of their| 
sorrows and varied emotions, forgotten to discharge the 5 
duties of hospitality. Frances felt herself impelled towards! 
their disconsolate guest, with an interest for which shet 
could not account, and with a force that she could nojti 
control. She had unconsciously connected the fates of| 
Dunwoodie and Isabella in her imagination, and she felt,' 
with the romantic ardour of a generous mind, that she was- 
serving her former lover most, by exhibiting kindness tojf 
her he loved best. Isabella received her attentions with^ 
gratitude, but neither of them indulged in any allusions to^^ 
the latent source of their uneasiness. The observation of| 
Miss Peyton seldom penetrated beyond things that weret 
visible, and to her the situation of Henry Wharton seemed^ 
to furnish an awful excuse for the fading cheeks and tear 1 
ful eyes of her niece. If Sarah manifested less of care than* 
her sister, still the unpractised aunt was not at a loss to/; 
comprehend the reason. Love is a holy feeling with the''.! 
virtuous of the female sex, and it hallows all that comes? i 
within its influence. Although Miss Peyton mourned with i 
sincerity over the danger which threatened her nephew. she1,| 
well knew that an active campaign was not favourable to^l 
love, and the moments that were thus accidentally granted! 
were not to be thrown away. ■§ 


270 


THE SPY 


271 


Several days now passed without any interruption of the 
usual avocations of the inhabitants of the cottage, or the 
party at the Four Corners. The former were supporting 
their fortitude With the certainty of Henry’s innocence, 
and a strong reliance on Dunwoodie’s exertions in his be- 
half, and the latter waiting with impatience the intelli- 
gence, that was hourly expected, of a conflict, and their 
orders to depart. Captain Lawton, however, waited for 
both these events in vain. Letters from the Major an- 
nounced that the enemy, flnding that the party which was 
to co-operate with them had been defeated, and was with- 
drawn, had retired also behind the works of Fort Washing- 
ton, where they continued inactive, threatening constantly 
to strike a blow in revenge for their disgrace. The trooper 
was enjoined to vigilance, and the letter concluded with a 
compliment to his honour, zeal, and undoubted bravery. 

“Extremely flattering. Major Dunwoodie,” muttered the 
dragoon, as he threw down this epistle, and stalked across 
the floor to quiet his impatience.' “A proper guard have 
you selected for this service: let me see — I have to watch 
over the interests of a crazy, irresolute old man, who does 
not know whether he belongs to us or to the enemy; four 
women, three of whom are v/ell enough in themselves, but 
who are not immensely flattered by my society; and the 
fourth, who, good as she is, is on the wrong side of forty; 
some two or three blacks; a talkative houskeeper, that does 
nothing but chatter about gold and despisables, and signs 
and omens; and poor George Singleton. Well, a comrade in 
suffering has a claim on a man, — so I’ll make the best of it.” 

As he concluded this soliloquy, the trooper took a seat 
and began to whistle, to convince himself how’- little he 
cared about the matter, when, by throwing his booted leg 
carelessly round, he upset the canteen that held his whole 
stock of brandy. The accident was soon repaired, but in 
replacing the wooden vessel, he observed a billet lying on 
the bench, on which the liquor had been placed. It was 
soon opened, and he read — “77^e moon will not rise till after 
midnight— a fit time for deeds of ‘darkness:^ Thebe was no 
mistaking the hand; it was clearly the same that had given 


272 


THE SPY 


him the timely warning against assassination, and the 
trooper continued, for a long time, musing on the nature of 
these two notices, and the motives that could induce the 
pedler to favour an implacable enemy in the manner that 
he had latterly done. That he was a spy of the enemy, ^ 
Lawton knew; for the fact of his conveying intelligence 
to the English commander-in-chief, of a party of Americans . 
that were exposed to the enemy, was proved most' clearly 
against him on the trial for his life. The consequences of 
his treason had been avoided, it is true, by a lucky order 
from Washington, which withdrew the regiment a short 
time before the British appeared to cut it off, but still the 
crime was the same; perhaps, thought the partisan, he 
wishes to make a friend of me against the event of another 
capture; but, at all events, he spared my life on one occa- 
sion, and saved it on another. I will endeavour to be as 
generous as himself, and pray that my duty may never 
interfere with my feelings. 

Whether the danger, intimated in the present note, 
threatened the cottage or his own party, the Captain was 
uncertain, but he inclined to the latter opinion, and deter- 
mined to beware how he rode abroad in the dark. To a 
man in a peaceable country, and in times of quiet and 
order, the indifference with which the partisan regarded 
the impending danger would be inconceivable. His reflec- 
tions on the subject were more directed towards devising 
means to entrap his enemies, than to escape their machina- 
tions. But the arrival of the surgeon, who had been to pay 
his daily visit to the Locusts, interrupted his meditations. 
Sitgreaves brought an invitation from the mistress of the 
mansion to Captain Lawton, desiring that the cottage 
might be honoured with his presence at an early hour on 
that evening. 

“Ha!” cried the trooper; “then they have received a 
letter, also.” 

“r think nothing more probable,” said the surgeon; 
“there is a chaplain at the cottage from the royal army, 
who has* come out to exchange the British wounded, and 
who has an order from Colonel Singleton for their delivery. . 

k 


THP] SPY 


273 




Put a more mad project than to remove them now was 
never adopted.” 

f “A priest, say you! — is he a hard drinker — a real camp- 
idler — a fellow to breed a famine in a regiment? or does 
he seem a man who is in earnest in his trade?” 

“A very respectable and orderly gentleman, and not 
“unreasonably given to intemperance, judging from the 
outward symptoms,” returned the surgeon; “and a. man 
who really says grace in a very regular and appropriate 
manner.” 

j “And does he stay the night?” - 

“Certainly; he waits for his cartel; but hasten, John, we 
have but little time to waste. I will just step up and bleed 
Awo or three of the Englishmen who are to move in the 
|| morning, in order to anticipate inflammation, and be with 
you immediately.” 

The gala suit of Captain Lawton was easily adjusted to 
Ihis huge frame, and his companion being ready, they once 
I more took their route towards the cottage. Roanoke had 
; been as much benefited by a few days’ rest as his master; 

I and Lawton ardently wished, as he curbed his gallant steed 
. on passing the well-remembered rocks, that his treacherous 
enemy stood before him, mounted and armed as himself. 
But no enemy, nor any disturbance whatever, interfered 
with their progress, and they reached the Locusts just as 
i the sun was throwing his setting rays on the valley, and 
tingeing the tops of the leafless trees with gold. It never 
required more than a single look to acquaint the trooper 
with the particulars of every scene that was not uncom- 
monly veiled, and the first survey that he took on entering 
the house, told him more than the observations of a day 
had put into the possession of Dr. Sitgreaves. Miss Peyton 
accosted him with a smiling welcome, that exceeded the 
bounds of ordinary courtesy, and which evidently flowed 
more from feelings that were connected with the heart, 
than from manner. Frances glided about, tearful and 
agitated, while Mr. AVharton stood ready to receive them, 
decked in a suit of velvet that would have been conspicuous 
in the gayest drawing-room. Colonel Wellmere was in the 


THE SPY 


nniform of an officer of the household troops of his prince, 
and Isabella Singleton sat in the parlour, clad in the habili-| 
ments of joy, but with a countenance that belied her appear- 
ance; while her brother by her side, looked, with a cheek 
of flitting colour, and an eye of intense interest, like any. 
thing but an invalid. As it was the third day that he had, 
left his room, Dr. Sitgreaves, who began to stare about him 
in stupid wonder, forgot to reprove his patient for impru-j| 
dence. Into this scene Captain Lawton moved with all the 
composure and gravity of a man whose nerves were not' 
easily discomposed by novelties. His compliments were 
received as graciously as they were offered, and after ex- 
changing a few words with the different individuals present, 
he approached the surgeon, who had withdrawn, in a kind 
of confused astonishment, to rally his senses. 

“John,” whispered the surgeon, with awakened curiosity, 
“what means this festival?” 

“That your wig and my black head would look the better 
for a little of Betty Flanagan’s flour; but it is too late now, 
and we must fight the battle armed as you see.” 

“Observe, here comes the army chaplain in his full robes 
as a Doctor Divinitatis; what can it mean?” 

“An exchange,” said the trooper; “the wounded of Cupid 
are to meet and settle their accounts with the god, in the 
way of plighting faith to suffer from his archery no more.” 

The surgeon laid a finger on the side of his nose, and he 
began to comprehend the case. 

“Is it not a crying shame, that a sunshine-hero, and an 
enemy, should thus be suffered to steal away one of the 
fairest plants that grows in our soil,” muttered Lawton; 
“a flower fit to be placed in the bosom of any man.” 

“If he be not more accomm.odating as a husband than as 
a patient, John, I fear me that the lady will lead a troubled 
life.” 

“Let her,” said the trooper, indignantly; “she has chosen 
from her country’s enemies, and may she meet with a 
foreigner’s virtues in her choice.” 

Further conversation was interrupted by Miss Peyton, 
who, advancing, acquainted them that they had been in- 


THE SPY 


275 


' vited to grace the nuptials of her eldest niece and Colonel 
Wellmere. The gentlemen bowed; and the good aunt, with 
an inherent love of propriety, went on to add, that the 
■acquaintance was of an old date, and the attachment by 
no means a sudden thing. To this Lawton merely ^owed 
still more ceremoniously; but the surgeon, who loved to 
'hold converse with the virgin, replied — 

“That the human mind was differently constituted in 
different individuals. In some, impressions are vivid and 
! transitory; in others, more deep and lasting: — indeed, there 
! are some philosophers who pretend to trace a connection 
between the physical and mental powers of the animal ; 

! but, for my part, madam, I believe that the one is much 
influenced by habit and association, and the other subject 
!|: altogether to the peculiar laws of hiatter.” 

Miss Peyton, in her turn, bowed her silent assent to this 
remark, and retired with dignity, to usher the intended 
j bride into the presence, of the company. The hour had 
■ arrived when American custom has decreed that the vows 
of wedlock must be exchanged; and Sarah, blushing with 
a variety of emotions, followed her aunt to the drawing- 
room. Wellmere sprang to receive the hand that, with an 
averted face, she extended towards him, and, for the first 
time, the English Colonel appeared fully conscious of the 
important part that he was to act in the approaching 
ceremony. Hitherto his air had been abstracted, and his 
manner uneasy; but every thing, excepting the certainty 
of his bliss, seemed to vanish at the blaze of loveliness that 
now burst on his sight. All arose from their seats, and 
the reverend gentleman had already opened the sacred 
volume, when the absence of Frances was noticed: Miss 
Peyton withdrew in search of her youngest niece, whom she 
found in her own apartment, and in tears. 

“Come, my love, the ceremony waits but for us,” said 
the aunt, affectionately entwining her arm in that of her 
niece; “endeavour to compose yourself, that proper honour 
may be done to the choice of your sister.” 

“Is he — can he be worthy of her?” 

“Can he be otherwise?” returned Miss Peyton; “is he not 


276 


THE SPY 


a gentleman? — a gallant soldier, though an unfortunate 
one? and certainly, my love, one who appears every way 
qualified to make any woman happy.” 

Frances had given vent to* her feelings, and, with an 
effort, she collected sufficient resolution to venture to join 
the party below. But to relieve the embarrassment of this 
delay, the clergyman had put sundry questions to the bride- 
groom; one of which was by no means answered to his 
satisfaction. Wellmere was compelled to acknowledge that J 
he was unprovided w’ith a ring; and to perform the mar- 
riage 'ceremony without one, the divine pronounced to be 
canonically impossible. His appeal to Mr. Wharton, for 
the propriety of this decision, was answered affirmatively, i 
as it would have beeh negatively, had the question been 
put in a manner to lead to such a result. The owner of 
the Locusts had lost the little energy he possessed, by the 
blow recently received through his son, and his assent to 
the objection of the clergyman was as easily obtained as' 
had been his consent to the premature proposals of Well- ^ 
mere. In this stage of the dilemma. Miss Peyton and ' 
Frances appeared. The surgeon of dragoons approached i 
the former, and as he handed her to a chair, observed — 

“It appears, madam, that untoward circumstances have 
prevented Colonel Wellmere from providing all of the deco- 
rations that custom, antiquity, and the canons of th« church 
have prescribed as indispensable to enter into the honour- 
able state of wedlock.” 

Miss Peyton glanced her quiet eye at the uneasy bride- 
groom, 'and perceiving him to be adorned with what she 
thought sufficient splendor, allowing for the time and the 
suddenness of the occasion, she turned her look on the 
speaker, as if to demand an explanation. 

The surgeon understood her wishes, and proceeded at 
once to gratify them. 

“There is,” he observed, “an opinion prevalent, that the 
heart lies on the left side of the body, and that the connec- 
tion between the members of that side and what may be 
called the seat of life, is more intimate than that which 
exists with their opposites. But this is an error that 


THE SPY 


277 


grows out of an ignorance of the organic arrangement of 
i the human frame. In obedience to this opinion, the fourth 
finger of the left hand is thought to contain a virtue that 
! belongs to no other branch of that digitated member; and 
I it is ordinarily encircled, during the solemnisation of 
I wedlock, with a cincture or ring, as if to chain that affec- 
tion to the marriage state, which is best secured by the 
graces of the female character.” While speaking, the opera- 
I tor laid his hand expressively on his heart, and he bowed 
nearly to the floor when he had concluded. 

‘T know not, sir, that I rightly understand your mean- 
ing,” said Miss Peyton, whose want of comprehension was 
I sufficiently excusable. 

; “A ring, madam — a ring is wanting for the ceremony.” 

The instant that the surgeon spoke explicitly, the awk- 
wardness of the situation was understood. She glanced 
her eyes at her niec^, and in the younger she read a secret 
exultation that somewhat displeased her; but the counte- 
nance of Sarah was suffused with a shame that the con- 
siderate aunt well understood. Not for the world would 
# « 

! she violate any of the observances of female etiquette. It 
suggested itself to all the females, at the same moment, 
that the wedding-ring of the late mother and sister was 
reposing peacefully amid the rest of her jewellery, in a 
secret receptacle, that had been provided at an early day, 
to secure the valuables against the predatory inroads of the 
marauders who roamed through the county. Into this 
hidden vault, the plate, and whatever was most prized, 
made a nightly retreat, and there the ring in question had 
long lain, forgotten until at this moment. But it was the 
business of the bridegroom, from time immemorial, to fur- 
nish this indispensable to wedlock, and on no account would 
Miss Peyton do any thing that transcended the usual re- 
serve of the sex on^ this solemn occasion; certainly not 
until sufficient expiation for the offence had been made, by 
a due portion of trouble and disquiet. This material fact, 
therefore, was not disclosed by either; the aunt consulting 
female propriety; the bride yielding to shame; and Prances 
rejoicing that an embarrassment, proceeding from almost 


278 


THE SPY 


any cause, should delay her sister’s vow. It was reserved * 
for Dr. Sitgreaves to interrupt the awkward silence. 

“If, madam, a plain ring, that once belonged to a sisterj 
of my own — ” He paused, and hemmed — “If, madam, a! 
ring of that description might be admitted to this honour, 

I have one that could be easily produced from my quarters j 
at the Corners, and I doubt not it would fit the finger for 
which it is desired. There is a strong resemblance be- 
tween — hem — between my late sister and Miss Wharton, in 
stature and anatomical figure; and, in all eligible subjects, 
the proportions are apt to be observed throughout the whole 
animal economy.” 

A glance of Miss Peyton’s eye recalled Colonel Wellmere ! 
to a sense of his duty, and springing from his chair, he 
assured the surgeon, that in no way could he confer a 
greater obligation on himself than by sending for that 
very ring. The operator bowed a little haughtily, and 
withdrew to fulfil his promise, by despatching a messenger 
on the errand. The aunt suffered him to retire; but un- 
willingness to admit a stranger into the’ privacy of their 
domestic arrangements, induced her to follow and tender 
the services of Caesar, instead of those of Sitgreave’s man, ( 
who had volunteered for this duty. Katy Haynes was : 
accordingly directed to summon the black to the vacant |i 
parlour, and thither Miss Peyton and the surgeon repaired, | 
to give their several instructions. | 

The consent to this sudden union of Sarah and Wellmere, 
and especially at a time when the life of a member of the i; 
family was in such imminent jeopardy, was given from a i 
conviction, that the unsettled state of the country .would | 
probably prevent another opportunity of the lovers meeting, * 
an^ a secret dread on the part of Mr. Wharton, that the [ 
death of his son might, by hastening his own, leave his } 
remaining children without a protector. But notwithstand- ' 
ing Miss Peyton had complied with her brother’s wish 
to profit by the accidental visit of a divine, she had not 
thought it necessary to blazon the intended nuptials of her 
niece to the neighbourhood, had even time been allowed:' 


THE SPY 


279 


I she thought, therefore, that she was now communicating a 
1 profound secret .to the negro and her housekeeper. 

■ “Ca;sar,” she commenced, with a smile, “you are now to 
learn that your young mistress. Miss Sarah, is to be united 
. to Colonel Wellmere this evening.” 

I “I tink I see him afore,” said Caesar, chuckling; “old 
1 black man can tell when a young lady make up he mind.” 
; “Really, Caesar, I find I have never given you credit for 
half the observation that you deserve; but as you already 
j know on what emergency your services are required, listen 
to the directions of this gentleman, and take care to 
observe them strictly.” 

^ The black turned in quiet submission to the surgeon, who 
I commenced as follows: — 

I “Cmsar, your mistress has already acquainted you with 
i the important event about to be solemnised within this 
habitation; but a cincture or ring is wanting to encircle 

I the finger of the bride; a custom derived from the ancients, 
and which has been continued in the marriage forms of 
several branches of the Christian church, and which is 
even, by a species of typical wedlock, used in the installa- 
tion of prelates, as you doubtless understand.” 

“P’r’aps massa doctor will say him over ag’in,” inter- 
rupted the old negro, whose memory began to fail him, just 
as the other made so confident an allusion to his powers of 
comprehension; “I tink I get him by heart dis time.” 

“It is impossible to gather honey from a rock, Cjssar, 
and therefore I will abridge the little I have to say. Ride 
to the Four Corners, and present this note to Sergeant 
Hollister, or to Mrs. Elizabeth Flanagan, either of whom 
! will furnish the necessary pledge of connubial affection; 

; and return forthwith.” 

The letter which the surgeon put into the hands of his 
messenger, as he ceased, was conceived in the following 
terms: — 

“If the fever has left Kinder, give him nourishment. 
Take three ounces more of blood from Watson. Have a 
search made that the woman Flanagan has left none of 
her jugs of alcohol in the hospital. Renew the dressings 


280 


THE SPY 


of Johnson, and dismiss Smith to duty. Send the ring, 
which is pendent from the chain of the watch, that I left! 
you with to time the doses, by the bearer. 

“Archibald Sitgreaves, M. D, 

''Surgeon of Dragoons." 

“Capsar,” said Katy, when she was alone with the black, 
“put the ring, when you get it, in your left pocket, for i 
that is nearest your heart; and by no means endeavour to | 
try it on your finger, for it is unlucky.” | 

“Try um on he finger?” interrupted the negro, stretching i 
forth his bony knuckles; “tink a Miss Sally’s ring go on 
old Caesar finger?” 

“ ’Tis not consequential whether it goes on or not,” i 
said the housekeeper; “but it is an evil omen to place a i 
marriage-ring on the finger of another after wedlock, and : 
of course it may be dangerous before.” 

“I tell you, Katy, I neber tink to put um on a finger.” 

“Go then, Cagsar, and do not forget the left pocket; be 
careful to take off your hat as you pass the grave-yard, . 
and be expeditious; for nothing, I am certain, can be more 
trying to the patience, than thus to be waiting for the 
ceremony, when a body has fully made up her mind to 
marry.” 

With this injunction, Caesar quitted the house, and he 
was soon firmly fixed in the saddle. From his youth, the 
black,, like all of his race, had been a hard rider; but, 
bending under the weight of sixty winters, his African 
blood had lost some of its native heat. The night was 
dark, and the wind whistled through the vale with the 
dreariness of November. When Caesar .reached the grave- 
yard, he uncovered his grizzled head with superstitious 
awe, and he threw around him many a fearful glance, in 
momentary expectation of seeing something superhuman. 
There was sufficient light to discern a being of earthly 
mould stealing from among the graves, apparently with a 
design to enter the highway. Tt is in vain that philosophy 
and reason contend with early impressions, and poor Caesar 
was even without the support of either of these frail allies. 


THE SPY 


281 


He was, however, well mounted on a coach-horse of Mr. 
Wharton’s, and, clinging to the back of the animal with 
instinctive skill, he abandoned the rein to the beast. 
Hillocks, woods, rocks, fences, and houses flew by him with 
the rapidity of lightning, and the black had just begun to 
think whither and on what business he was riding in this 
headlong manner, when he reached the place where the 
roads met, and the “Hotel Flanagan” stood before him in 
its dilapidated simplicity. The sight of a cheerful fire first 
told the negro that he had reached the habitation of man, 
and with it came all his dread of the bloody Virginians; — 
his duty, must, however, be done, and, dismounting, he 
fastened the foaming animal to a fence, and approached the 
window with cautious steps, to reconnoitre. 

Before a blazing fire sat Sergeant Hollister and Betty 
Flanagan, enjoying themselves over a liberal potation. 

“I tell yee. Sergeant dear,” said Betty, removing the mug 
from her mouth, “ ’tis no rasonable to think it was more 
than the pidler himself; sure now, where was the smell of 
sulphur, and the wings, and the tail, and the cloven foot? — 
besides, Sargeant, it’s no, dacent to tell a lone famale that 
she had Beelzeboob for a bedfellow.” 

“It matters but little, Mrs. Flanagan, provided you escape 
his talons and fangs hereafter,” returned the veteran, 
following the remark by a heavy draught. 

Caesar heard enough to convince him, that little danger 
from this pair was to be apprehended. His teeth already 
began to chatter, and the cold without and the comfort 
within stimulated him greatly to enter. He made his ap- 
proaches with proper caution, and knocked with extreme 
humility. The appearance of Hollister with a drawn 
sword, roughly demanding who was without, contributed in 
no degree to the restoration of his faculties; but fear itself 
lent him power to explain his errand. 

“Advance,” said the Sergeant, throwing a look of close 
scrutiny on the black, as he brought him to the light; 
“advance, and deliver your despatches: have you the 
countersign?” 

“I don’t tink he know what dat be,” said tjie black. 


382 


THE SPY 


shaking in his shoes, “dough massa dat sent me gib me 
many tings to carry, dat he little understand.” 

“Who ordered you on this duty, did you say?” 

“Well, it war he doctor, heself, so he come up on a gallop, 
as he alway do on a doctor’s errand.” 

“ ’Twas Dr. Sitgreaves; he never knows the countersign 
himself. Now, blackey, had it been Captain Lawton, he 
would not have sent you here, close to a sentinel, without 
the countersign; for you might get a pistol bullet through^ 
you head, and that would be cruel to you; for although you 
be black, I am none of them who thinks niggers have no 
souls.” 

“Sure, a nagur has as much sowl as a white,” said Betty; 
“come hither, ould man, and warm that shivering carcase 
of yeers by the blaze of this fire. I’ni sure a Guinea nagur 
loves hate as much as a souldier loves his drop.” 

Caesar obeyed in silence, and a mulatto boy, who was 
sleeping on a bench in the room, was bidden to convey the 
note of the surgeon to the building where the wounded 
were quartered. 

“Here,” said the washerwoman, tendering to Csesar a 
taste of the article that most delighted herself, “try a drop, 
smooty, ’twill warm the black sowl within your crazy body, 
and be giving you spirits as you are going homeward.” 

“I tell you, Elizabeth,” said the Sergeant, “that the souls 
of niggers are the same as our own; how often have I 
heard the good Mr. Whitefield say, that there was no dis- 
tinction of colour in heaven. Therefore it is reasonable to 
believe that the soul of this here black is as white as m.y 
own, or even Major Dunwoodie’s.” 

“Be sure he be,” cried Caesar, a little tartly, whose 
courage had revived by tasting the' drop of Mrs. Flanagan. 

“It’s a good sowd that the Major is, any way,” returned 
the washerwoman; “and a kind sowl — ay, and a brave sowl 
too; and yee’ll say all that yeerself, Sargeant, I’m thinking.” 

“For the matter of that,” returned the veteran, “there is 
one above even Washington, to judge of souls; but this 1 
* will say, that Major Dunwoodie is a gentleman who never 
says, Go, boys — but always says, Come, boys; and if a poor 


283 


fellow is in want of a spur or a martingale, and the leatlier- 
B whack is gone, there is never wanting the real silver to 
' make up the loss, and that from his own pocket too.” 

" “Why, then, are you here idle when all that he holds 
most dear are in danger?” cried a voice with startling 
abruptness; “mount, mount, and follow your captain; arm 
and mount, and that instantly, or you will be too late!” 

, This unexpected interruption produced an instantaneous 
confusion amongst the tipplers. Caesar fled instinctively 
into the fire-place, where he maititained his position in 
defiance of a heat that would have roasted a white man. 
Sergeant Hollister turned promptly oh his heel, and seizing 
his sabre, the steel was glittering by the firelight, in the 
twinkling of an eye; but perceiving the intruder to be the 
pedler, who stood near the open door that led to the lean-to 
in the rear, he began to fall back towards the position of 
the black, with a military intuition that taught him to 
ccncentrate his forces. Betty alone stood her ground, by 
the side of the temporary table. Replenishing the mug 
with a large addition of the article known to the soldiery 
by the name of “choke-dog,” she held it towards the pedler. 
The eyes of the washerwoman had for some time been 
swimming with love and liquor, and turning them good- 
naturedly on Birch, she cried — 

“Faith, but yee’re wilcome. Mister Pidler, or Mister Birch, 
or Mister Beelzeboob, or what’s yeer name. Yee’re an 
honest divil any way, and I’m hoping that you found the 
pitticoats convanient. Come forward, dear, and fale the 
fire; Sargeant Hollister won’t be hurting you, for the fear 
of an ill turn you may be doing him hereafter — will yee, 
Sargeant, dear?” 

“Depart, ungodly man!” cried the veteran, edging still ' 
nearer to Csesar, but lifting his legs alternately as they 
scorched with the heat, “depart in peace! There is none 
here for thy service, and you seek the woman in vain. 
There is a tender mercy that will save her from thy talons.” 
The Sergeant ceased to utter aloud, but the motion of his 
lips continued, and a few scattering words of prayer were 
alone audible. 


284 


THE SPY 


The brain of the washerwoman was in such a state of* 
confusion that she did not clearly comprehend the meaning 
of her suitor, but a new idea struck her imagination, and 
she broke forth — 

‘Tf it’s me the man saaks, where’s the matter, pray? am 
I not a widowed body, and my own property? And you talk 
of tinderness, Sargeant; but it’s little I see of it any way: 
who knows but Mr. Beelzeboob here is free to spake his 
mind? I’m sure it is willing to hear I am.” 

“Woman,” said the pedler, “be silent; and you, foolish 
man, mount — arm and mount, and fly to the rescue of your 
officer, if you are worthy of the cause in which you serve, .* 
and would not disgrace the coat you wear.” The pedler J 
vanished from the sight of the bewildered trio, with a 
rapidity that left them uncertain whither he had fled. 

On hearing the voice of an old friend, Caesar emerged 
from his corner, and fearlessly advanced to the spot where n 
Betty had resolutely maintained her ground, though in a 
state of utter mental confusion. 

“I wish Harvey stop,” said the black; “if he ride down ; 
a road, I should like he company;' — I don’t tink Johnny 
Birch hurt he own son.” 

“Poor ignorant wretch!” exclaimed the veteran, recover- 
ing his voice with a long-drawn breath; “think you that 
figure was made of flesh and blood?” 

“Harvey an’t fleshy,” replied the black, “but he berry 
clebber man.” 

“Pooh! Sargeant dear,” exclaimed the washerwoman, 
“talk rason for once, and mind what the knowing one tells 
yee; call out the boys, and ride a bit after Captain Jack; 
rimimber, darling, that he told yee, the day, to be in 
readiness to mount at a moment’s warning.” 

“Ay, but not at a summons from the foul flend. Let Cap- 
tain Lawton, or Lieutenant Mason, or Cornet Skipwith, say 
the word, and who is quicker in the saddle than I?” 

“W611, Sargeant, how often is it that yee’ve boasted to 
mj^self that the corps wasn’t a bit afeard to face the divil?” 

“No more are we, in battle array, and by daylight; but 
it’s foolhardy and irreverent to tempt Satan, and on such 


THE SPY 


285 


a night as this: listen how the wind whistles through the 
trees; and hark! there is the howling of evil spirits 
abroad.” 

“I see him,” said Cassar, opening his eyes to a width that 
might have embraced more than an ideal form. 

“Where?” interrupted the Sergeant, instinctively laying 
his hand on the hilt of his sabre. 

“No — no,” said the black, “I see a Johnny Birch come out 
of he grave — Johnny walk afore he buried.” 

“Ah! then be* must have led an evil life indeed,” said 
Hollister; “the blessed in spirit lie quiet until the general 
muster, but wickedness disturbs the spul in this life as well 
as in that which is to come.” 

“And what is to come of Captain Jack?” cried Betty,, 
angrily; “is it yeer orders that yee won’t mind, nor a warn- 
ing given? I’ll jist git my cart, and ride down and tell 
him that yee’re afeared of a dead man and Beelzeboob; and 
it isn’t succour he may be expicting from yee. I wonder 
who’ll be the orderly of the troop the morrow, then? — his 
name won’t be Hollister, any way.” 

“Nay, Betty, nay,” said the Sergeant, laying his hand 
familiarly on her shoulder; “if there must be riding to- 
night, let it be by him whose duty it is to call out the men 
and to set an example. The Lord have mercy, and send us 
enemies of flesh and blood!” 

Another glass confirmed the veteran in a resolution that 
was only excited by a dread of his Captain’s displeasure, 
and he proceeded to summon the dozen men who had been 
left under his command. The boy arriving with the ring, 
Caesar placed it carefully in the pocket of his waistcoat 
next his heart, and, mounting, shut his eyes, seized his 
charger by the mane, and continued in a state of compara- 
tive insensibility, until the animal stopped at the door of 
the warm stable whence he had started. « 

The movements of the dragoons, being timed to the order 
of a march, were much slower, for they were made with a 
watchfulness that was intended to guard against surprise 
from the evil one himself. 


CHAPTER XXII 


Be nofc your tongue tliy own shame’s orator; ^ 

Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty, 

Apparel vice like virtue’s harbinger. 

Comedy of Errors. 

The situation of the party in Mr. Wharton’s dwelling was 
sufficiently awkward, during the hour of Caesar’s absence; 
for such was the astonishing rapidity displayed by his * 
courser, that the four miles of road was gone over, and the 
events we have recorded had occurred, somewhat within 
that period of time. Of course, the gentlemen strove to^ 
make the irksome moments fly as swiftly as possible; but 
premeditated happiness is certainly of the least joyous kind. ' 
The bride and bridegroom are immemorially privileged to^ 
be dull, and but few of their friends seemed disposed, on |l 
the present occasion, to dishonour their example. The ' J 
English Colonel exhibited a proper portion of uneasiness | 
at this unexpected interruption of his felicity, and he sat ) 
with a varying countenance by the side of Sarah, who I 
seemed to be profiting by the delay to gather fortitude for i 
the solemn ceremony. In the midst of this embarrassing ^ 
silence Dr. Sitgreaves addressed himself to Miss .Peyton, ^ 
by whose side he had contrived to procure a chair. ^ [ 

“Marriage, madam, is pronounced to be honourable in the 1 
sight of God and man: and it may be said to be reduced, ! 
in the present age, to the laws of nature and reason. The 
ancients, in sanctioning polygamy, lost sight of the provi- 
sions of nature, and condemned thousands to misery; but 
with the increase of science have grown the wise ordinances ! 
of society, which ordain that man should be the husband of 
but one woman.” 

Wellmere glanced a fierce expression of disgust at the 
surgeon, that indieated his sense of the tediousness of 


^ THP: spy 287 

the other’s remarks; while Miss Peyton, with a slight 
hesitation, as if fearful of touching on forbidden subjects, 
replied — 

' “I had thought, sir, that we were indebted to the Chris- 
tian religion for our morals on this subject.” 

“True, madam, it is somewhere provided in the prescrip- 
-tions of the apostles, that the sexes should henceforth be 
on an equality in this particular. But in what degree 
could polygamy affect holiness of life? It was probably a 
wise arrangement of Paul, who was much of a scholar, and 
probably had frequent conferences, on this important sub- 
ject, with Luke, whom we all know to have been bred to the 
- practice of medicine — ” 

r There is no telling how far the discursive fancy of Sit- 
greaves might have led him, on this subject, had he not 
been interrupted. But Lawton, who had been a close 
though silent observer of all that passed, profited by the 
hint to ask abruptly — 

“Pray, Colonel Wellmere, in what manner is bigamy 
punished in England?” 

/The bridegroom started, and his lip blanched. Recover- 
ing himself, however, on the instant, he answered with a 
suavity that became so happy a man, — 

“Death! — as such an offence merits,” he said. 

“Death and dissection,” continued the operator: “it is 
seldom that the law loses sight of eventual utility in a 
‘malefactor. Bigamy, in a man, is a heinous offence!” 

“More so than celibacy?” asked Lawton. 

“More so,” returned the surgeon, with undisturbed sim- 
plicity: “he who remains in a single state may devote his 
life to science and the extension of knowledge, if not of his 
species; but the wretch who profits by the constitutional 
tendency of the female sex to credulity and tenderness, 
incurs the wickedness of a positive sin, heightened by the 
baseness of deception.” 

“Really, sir, the ladies are infinitely obliged to you, for 
attributing folly to them as part of their nature.” 

“Captain Lawton, in man the animal is more nobly 
formed than in woman. The nerves are endowed with less 


288 


THE SPY 


I 


sensibility; the whole frame is less pliable and yielding;^ 
is it, therefore, surprising that a tendency to rely on the, 
faith of her partner is more natural to woman than to the , 
other sex?” 

Wellmere, as if unable to listen with any degree of ' 
patience to so ill-timed a dialogue, sprang from his seat i 
and paced the floor in disorder. Pitying his situation, the 
reverend gentleman, who was patiently awaiting the return , 
of Csesar, changed the discourse, and a few minutes brought ■ 
the black himself. The billet v/as handed to Dr. Sitgreaves; 
for Miss Peyton had expressly enjoined Caesar not to impli- ; 
cate her, in any manner, in the errand on which he was p 
despatched. The note contained a summary statement of ' 
the several subjects of the surgeon’s directions, and referred > i 
him to the black for the ring. The latter was instantly 
demanded, and promptly delivered. A transient look of J 
melancholy crowded the brow of the surgeon, as he stood *: 
a moment, and gazed silently on the bauble; nor did he , 
remember the place, or the occasion, while he soliloquised ' 
as follows: — 

“Poor Anna! gay as innocence and youth could make 
thee was thy heart, when this cincture was formed to grace 
thy nuptials; but ere the hour had come, God had taken 
thee to himself. Years have passed, my sister, but never i 
have I forgotten the companion of my infancy!” He ‘ 
advanced to Sarah, and, unconscious of observation, plac- 
ing the ring on her finger, continued — “She for whom it 
was intended has long been in her grave, and the youth 
who bestowed the gift soon followed her sainted spirit: ' 
take it, madam, and God grant that it may be an instru- 
ment in making you as happy as you deserve!” 

Sarah felt a chill at her heart, as this burst of feeling 
escaped the surgeon; but Wellmere offering his hand, she ' 
was led before the divine, and the ceremony began. The 
first words of this imposing office produced a dead stillness i 
in the apartment; and the minister of God proceeded to the | 
solemn exhortation, and witnessed the plighted troth of the ' 
parties, when the investiture was to follow. The ring had 
been left, from inadvertency, and the agitation of the mo- 


THE SPY 


289 


'V> 


ment, on the finger where Sitgreaves had placed it: — the 
slight interruption occasioned by the circumstance was 
over, and the clergyman was about to proceed, when a 
figure gliding into the midst of the party, at once put a 
stop to the ceremony. It was the pedler. His look was 
bitter and ironical, while a finger, raised towards the 
divine, seemed to forbid the ceremony to go any farther. 

“Can Colonel Wellmere waste the precious moments here, 
when his wife has crossed the ocean to meet him? The 
nights are long, and ‘the moon bright; — a few hours will 
take him to the city.” 

Aghast at the suddenness of this extraordinary address, 
Wellmere for a moment lost the comrriand of his faculties. 
To Sarah, the countenance of Birch, expressive as it was, 
produced no terror; but the instant she recovered from the 
surprise of his interruption, she turned her anxious gaze 
on the features of the man to whom she had just pledged 
her troth. They afforded the most terrible confirmation 
of all that the pedler affirmed; the room whirled round, 
and she fell lifeless into the arms of her aunt. There is 
an instinctive delicacy in woman, that seems to conquer all 
other emotions; and the insensible bride was immediately 
conveyed from sight, leaving the room to the sole possession 
of the other sex. 

The confusion enabled the pedler to retreat with a 
rapidity that would have baffled pursuit, had any been 
attempted, and Wellmere stood with every eye fixed on 
him, in ominous silence.' 

“ ’Tis false — ’tis false as hell!” he cried, striking his fore- 
head. “I have ever denied her claim; nor will the laws of 
my country compel me to acknowledge it.” 

“But Avhat will conscience and the laws of God do?” 
asked Lawton: 

“ ’Tis well, sir,” said Wellmere, haughtily, and retreating 
towards the door — “my situation protects you now; but a 
timd may come — ” 

He had reached the entry, when a slight tap on his 
shoulder caused him to turn his head; — it was Captain 
Lawton, who, with a smile of peculiar meaning, beckoned 


290 


THE SPY 


him to follow. The state of Wellmere’s mind was such, 
that he would gladly have gone anywhere to avoid the | 
gaze of horror and detestation that glared from every eye i 
he met. They reached the stables before the trooper spoke, 
when he cried aloud — 

,A‘Bring out Roanoke!” 

His man appeared with the steed caparisoned for its 
master. Lawton, coolly throwing the bridle on the neck I 
of the animal, took his pistols from the holsters, and con- jj 
tinned — “Here are weapons that have seen good service | 
before to-day — ay, and in honourable hands, sir. These | 
were the pistols of my father. Colonel Wellmere; he used y 
them with credit in the wars with France, and gave them 
to me to fight the battles of my country with. In what - 
better way can I serve her than in exterminating a wretch 
who would have blasted one of her fairest daughters?” 

“This injurious treatment shall met with its reward,” ,, 
cried the other, seizing the offered weapon; “the blood lie ' 
on the head of him who sought it!” | 

“Amen! but hold a moment, sir. You are now free, and j 
the passports of Washington are in your pocket; I give you \ 
the fire; if I fall, there is a steed that will outstrip pursuit; i 
and I would advise you to retreat without much delay, for j 
even Archibald Sitgreaves would fight in such a cause — nor j 
will the guard above be very apt to give quarter.” 

“Are you ready?” asked Wtellmere, gnashing his teeth 
with rage. 

“Stand forward, Tom, with the lights; — fire!” 

Wellmere fired, and the bullion flew from the epaulette 
of the trooper. 

“Now the turn is mine,” said Lawton, deliberately level- 
ling his pistol. 

“And mine!” shouted a voice, as the weapon was struck 
from his hand. “By all the devils in hell, ’tis the mad 
Virginian! — fall on, my boys, and take him; this is a prize 
not hoped for!” 

Unarmed, and surprised as he was, Lawton’s presence of 
mind did not desert him; he felt that he was in the hands 
of those from whom he was to expect no mercy; and, as 


THE SPY 


291 


four of the Skinners fell upon him at once, he used his 
gigantic strength to the utmost. Three of the band grasped 
him by the neck and arms, with an intent to clog his efforts, 
and pinion him with ropes. The first of these he threw 
from him, with a violence that sent him against the build- 
ing, where he lay stunned with the blow. But the fourth 
seized his legs; and, unable to contend with such odds, the 
trooper came to the earth, bringing with him all of his 
assailants. The struggle on the ground was short but 
terrific; — curses and the most dreadful imprecations were 
uttered by the Skinners, who in vain called on more of 
their band, who were gazing on the combat in nerveless 
horror, to assist. A difficulty of breathing, from one of the 
combatants, was heard; accompanied by the stifled mean- 
ings of a strangled man; and directly one of the group 
arose on his feet, shaking himself free from the wild grasp 
of the others. Both Wellmere and the servant of Lawton 
had fled, the former to the stables, and the latter to give the 
alarm, leaving all in darkness. The' figure that stood erect 
sprang into the saddle of the unheeded charger; sparks of 
fire, issuing from the armed feet of the horse, gave a 
momentary light by which the captain was seen dashing 
like the wind towards the highway. 

“By hell he’s off!” cried the leader, hoarse with rage and 
exhaustion; “fire! — bring him down — fire, or you’ll be too 
late.” 

The order was obeyed, and one moment of suspense 
followed, in the vain hope of hearing the huge frame of 
Lawton tumbling from his steed. 

“He would not fall if you had killed him,” muttered one; 
“I’ve known these Virginians sit their horses with two or 
three balls through them; ay, even after they were dead.” 

A freshening of the wind wafted the tread of a horse 
down the valley, which, by its speed, gave assurance of a 
rider governing its motion. 

“These trained horses always stop when the rider falls,” 
observed one of the gang. 

“Then,” cried the leader, striking his musket on the 
ground in a rage, “the fellow is safe! — to your business 


292 


THK SPY 


at once. A short half-hour will bring down that canting 
Sergeant and the guard upon us. ’Twill be lucky if the 
guns don’t turn them out. Quick, to your' posts, and lire 
the house in the chambers; smoking ruins are good to cover | 
evil deeds.” 

“What is to be done with this lump of earth?” cried 
another, pushing the body that yet lay insensible, where 
it had been hurled by the arm of Lawton; “a little rubbing 
would bring him to.” 

“Let him lie,” said the leader, fiercely; “had he l5een 
half a man, that dragooning rascal would have been in my 
power; — enter the house, I say, and fire the chambers. We 
can’t go amiss here; — there is plate and money enough to •' 
make you all gentlemen — and revenge too.” 

The idea of silver in any way was not to be resisted ; and, ; 
leaving their companion, who began to show faint signs of ' 
life, they rushed tumultuously towards the dwelling. Well- ^ 
mere availed himself of the opportunity, and, stealing from ' 
the stable with his own charger, he was able to gain the 
highway unnoticed. For an instant he hesitated, whether ? 
to ride towards the point where he knew the guard was V 
stationed, and endeavour to rescue the family, or, profiting • 
by his liberty, and the exchange that had been effected by , 
the divine, to seek the rojml army. Shame, and a con- 
sciousness of guilt, determined him to take the latter 
course, and he ro(Je towards New York, stung with the j 
reflection of his own baseness, and harassed with the appre- i \ 
hension of meeting with an enraged woman, that he had ■?. 
married during his late visit to England, but whose claims, 
as soon as his passion was sated, he had resolved never 
willingly to admit. In the tumult and agitation of the t 
moment, the retreat of Lawton and Wellmere was but little 
noticed; the condition of Mr. Wharton demanding the care 
and consolation of both the surgeon and the divine. The 
report of the fire-arms first roused the family to the sense 
of a new danger, and but a moment elapsed before the a 
leader, and one more of the gang, entered the room. J; 

“Surrender! you servants of King George,” shouted the# 




THE SPY 


293 


leader, presenting his musket to the breast of Sitgreaves, 
“or I will let a little Tory blood from your veins.” 

“Gently — gently, my friend,” said the surgeon; “you are 
doubtless more expert in inflicting wounds than in healing 
them; the weapon that you hold so indiscreetly is extremely 
dangerous to animal life.” 

“Yield, or take its contents.” 

“Why and wherefore should I yield? — I am a non- 
combatant. The articles of capitulation must be arranged 
with Captain John Lawton; though yielding, I believe, is 
not a subject on which you will find him particularly 
complying.” ■» 

The fellow had ,by this time taken such a survey of the 
group, as convinced him that little danger was to be appre- 
hended from resistance, and, eager to seize his share of the 
plunder, he dropped his musket, and was soon busy, with 
the assistance of his men, in arranging divers articles of 
plate in bags. The cottage now presented a singular spec- 
tacle; — the ladies were gathered around Sarah, who yet 
continued insensible, in one of the rooms that had escaped 
the notice of the marauders. Mr. Wharton sat in a state 
of perfect imbecility, listening to, but not profiting by, the 
unmeaning words of comfort that fell from the lips of the 
clergyman. Singleton was lying on a sofa, shaking with 
debility, and inattentive to surrounding objects; while the 
surgeon was administering restoratives, and looking at 
the dressings, with a coolness that mocked the tumult. 
Caesar, and the attendant of Captain Singleton, had re- 
treated to the wood in the rear of the cottage, and Katy 
Haynes was flying about the building, busily employed in 
forming a bundle of valuables, from which, with the most 
scrupulous honesty, she rejected every article that was not 
really and truly her own. 

But to return to the party at the Four Corners. When 
the veteran had got his men mounted and under arms, a 
restless desife to participate in the glory and dangers of 
the expedition came over the washerwoman. Whether she 
was impelled to the undertaking by a dread of remaining 


294 


THE SPY 


alone, or a wish to hasten in person to the 
favourite, we will not venture to assert; but, 
was giving the orders to wheel and march, 

Betty was heard, exclaiming — ^ 

“Stop a hit, Sargeant dear, till two of the 
the cart, and I’ll jist ride wid yee; ’tis like there’ll be 
wounded, and it will be mighty convanient to bring them 
home in.” 

Although inwardly much pleased, with any cause of 
delay, to a service that he so little relished, Hollister 
affected som.e displeasure at the detention. 

“Nothing but a cannon-ball can take one of my lads from : I 
rhis charger,” he said; “and it’s not very likely that we 
shall have as fair fighting as cannon and musketry, in a : jl 
business of the evil one’s inventing; so, Elizabeth, you may r 
go if you will, but the cart Avill not be wanting.” . j 

“Now' Sargeant dear, you lie, any way,” said Betty, who' | 
was somewhat unduly governed by her potations; “and { 
wasn’t Captain Singleton shot off his horse but tin days \ 
' gone by? ay, and Captain. Jack himself too; and didn’t he' ! 
lie on the ground, face uppermost, and back downwards, j 
looking grim? and didn’t the boys tink him dead, and turn i 
and lave the rig’lars the day?” 

“You lie back again,” cried the Sergeant, fiercely: “and 
so does any one who says that we didn’t gain the day.” 

“For a bit or so — only I mane for a bit or so,” said the 
washerwoman; “but Major Dunwoodie turned you, and so 
you licked the rig’lars. But the Captain it w^as that fell,"A 
and I’m thinking that there’s no better rider going; so, * 
Sargeant, it’s the cart will be convanient. Here, two of 
you, jist hitch the mare to the tills, and it’s no whiskey 
that yee’ll be wanting the morrow; and put the piece of 
Jenny’s hide under the pad; the baste is never the better 
for the rough ways of the county West-Chester.” The con- 
sent of the Sergeant being obtained, the equipage of Mrs. 
Flanagan was soon in readiness to receive its burthen. 

“As it is quite uncertain whether we shall be attacked in 
front, or in rear,” said Hollister, “five of you. shall march 
in advance, and the remainder shall cover our retreat 


relief of herj 
as Hollister 
the voice of;’ 


boys git outi 


THE SPY 


295 


L towards the barrack, should we be pressed. ’Tis an awful 
[lit moment to a man of little learning, Elizabeth, to command 
. in such a service; for my part, I wish devoutly that one 

i of the officers were here; but my trust is in the Lord.” 
“Pooh! man, away wid yee,” said the washerwoman, who 
had got herself comfortably seated; “the divil a bit of an 
inimy is there near. March on, hurry, skurry, and let the 
I mare trot, or it’s but little that Captain Jack will thank yee 
for the help.” 

“Although unlearned in matters of communicating with 
-spirits, or. laying the dead, Mrs. Flanagan,” said the vet- 
eran, “I have not served through the old war, and five years 
in this, not to know how to guard the baggage. Doesn’t 
Washington always cover the baggage? I am not to be 
told my duty by a camp follower. Fall in as you are 
ordered, and dress, men.”^ 

, “Well, march, any way,” cried the impatient washer- 
woman; “the black is there already, and it’s tardy the 
Captain will think yee.” 

j “Are you sure that it was really a black man that 
I brought the order?” said the Sergeant, dropping in between 
! the platoons, where he could converse with Betty, and be 
' at hand, to lead on an emergency, either on an advance or 
on a retreat. 

“Nay — and I’m sure of nothing, dear. But why don’t 
the boys prick their horses and jog a trot? the mare is 
mighty unasy, and it’s no warm in this cursed valley, 
riding as much like a funeral party as old rags is to con- 
tinental.” * 

“Fairly and softly, ay, and prudently, Mrs. Flanagan; 
it’s not rashness that makes the good officer. If we have 
to encounter a spirit, it’s more than likely he’ll make his 
attack by surprise; horses are not very powerful in the 
dark, and I have a character to lose, good woman.” 

* The paper money issued by Congress was familiarly called 
continental money. This term continental was applied to •the army, 
the congress, the ships of war, and, in short, to almost evei’ything 
of interest which belonged to the new government. It would seem 
to have been invented as the opposite of the insular position of 
th(‘ mother country. 


296 


THE SPY 


“Caractur! and isn’t it.caractur and life too that Captain 
Jack has to lose?” 

“Halt!” cried the Sergeant; “what is that lurking near ( 
the foot of the rock, on the left?” 

“Sure, it’s nothing, unless it be matter of Captain Jack’s i 
sowl that’s come to haunt yee, for not being brisker on the i 
march.” 

“Betty, your levity makes you an unfit comrade for such i 
an expedition. Advance, one of you, and reconnoitre the 
spot; — draw swords! — rear rank, close to the front!” 

“Pshaw!” shouted Betty, “is it a big fool or a b.ig coward \ 
that yee are? jist wheel from the road, boys, and I’ll shove I 
the mare down upon it in the twinkling of an eye — and it’s 
no ghost that I fear.” { 

By this time one of the men had returned, and declared 
there was nothing to prevent their advancing, and the : 
party continued their march, but with great deliberation I 
and caution! | 

“Courage and prudence are the jewels of a soldier, Mrs. ! 
Flanagan,” said the Sergeant: “without the one, the other \ 
may be said to be good for nothing.” i 

“Prudence without courage: is it that you mane? — and ^ 
it’s so that I’m thinking myself, Sargeant. This baste pulls { 
tight on the reins any way.” j 

“Be patient, good woman; — hark! what is that?” said j 
Hollister, pricking up his ears at the report of Wellmere’s :i 
pistol; “I’ll swear that was a human pistol, and one from i 
our regiment. — Rear rank, close to the front! — Mrs. Flana- : 
gan, I must leave you.” So saying, having recovered all I 
his faculties, by hearing a sound that he understood, he ' 
placed himself at the head of his men with an air of mili- i 
tary pride, that the darkness prevented the washerwoman f 
from beholding. A volley of musketry now rattled in the 
night wind, and the Sergeant exclaimed — 

“March! — quick time!” 

'rbe next instant the trampling of a horse was heard 
coming up the road, at a rate that announced a matter of 
life or death; and Hollister again halted his party, riding 
a short distance in front himself, to meet the rider. 


THE SPY 


'J<j7 


“Stand! — who goes there?” shouted Hollister. 

“Ha! Hollister, is it you?” cried Lawton, “ever ready, 
and at your post; but where is the guard?” 

“At hand, sir, and ready to follow you through thick 
and thin,” said the veteran, relieved at once from respon- 
sibility, and as eager as a boy to be led against his enemy. 

“ ’Tis well!” said the trooper, riding up to his men; then, 
speaking a few words of encouragement, he led them down 
the valley at a rate but little less rapid t!ian his approach. 
The miserable horse of the sutler was soon distanced, and 
Betty, thus thrown out in the chase, turned to the side of 
the road, and observed — 

“There — it’s no difficult, to tell that Captain Jack is wid 
’em, any way; and away they go like so many nagur boys 
to a husking frolic; — well, I’ll jist hitch the mare to this 
bit of a fence, and wilk down and see the spoort afoot — it’s 
no rasonable to expose the baste to be hurted.” 

Led on by Lawton, the men followed, destitute alike of 
fear and reflection. Whether it was a party of the refugees, 
or a detachment from the royal army, that they were to 
assail, they were profoundly ignorant; but they knew that 
the officer in advance was distinguished for courage and 
personal prowess; and these are virtues that are sure to 
captivate the thoughtless soldiery. On arriving near the 
gates of the Locusts, the trooper halted his party, and made 
his arrangements for the assault. Dismounting, he ordered 
eight of his men to follow his example, and turning to 
Hollister, said — 

“Stand you here, and guard the horses; if any thing 
attempt to pass, stop it, or cut it down, and — ” The 
flames at this moment burst through the dormer-windows 
and cedar roof of the cottage, and a bright light glared on 
the darkness of the night. “On!” shouted the trooper, 
“on! — give quarter when you have done justice!” 

There was a startling fierceness in the voice of the 
trooper that reached to the heart, even amid the horrors 
of the cottage. The leader of the Skinners dropped his' 
plunder, and, for a moment, he stood in nerveless dread; 
then rushing to a window, he threw up the sash; — at this 


298 


THE SPY 


instant Lawton entered, sabre in hand, into the apartment. I 
“Die, miscreant!” cried the trooper, cleaving a marauder i 
to the jaw: but the leader -sprang into the lawn, and p 
escaped his vengeance. The shrieks of the females restored Ij 
Lawton to his presence of mind, and the earnest entreaty | 
of the divine induced him to attend to the safety of the | 
family. One more of the gang fell in with the dragoons, I 
and met his death ; but the remainder had taken the alarm | 
in seaEson. Occupied with Sarah, neither Miss Singleton, I 
nor the ladies of the house, had discovered the entrance | 
of the Skinners, though the flames were raging around Q 
them with a fury that threatened the building with rapid | 
destruction. The shrieks of Katy and the terrified consort I 
of Caesar, together with the noise and uproar in the adja- I 
cent apartment, first roused Miss Peyton and Isabella to a | 
sense of their danger. I 

“Merciful Providence!” exclaimed the alarmed aunt; I 
“there is a dreadful confusion in the house, and there will I 
be bloodshed in consequence of this affair.” I 

“There are none to fight,” returned Isabella, with a face | 
paler than that of the other; “Dr. Sitgreaves is very peace- i 
able in his disposition, and surely Captain Lawton would I 
not forget himself so far.” [ 

“The southern temper is quick and fiery,” continued | 
Miss Peyton; “and your brother, feeble and weak as he is, I 
has looked the whole afternoon flushed and angry.” j 

“Good Heaven!” cried Isabella, with difficulty supporting | 
herself on the couch of Sarah; “he is gentle as the lamb 
by nature, though the lion is not his equal when roused.” 1 
“We must interfere: our presence will quell the tumult, 
and possibly save the life of a fellow-creature.” 

Miss Peyton, excited to attempt what she conceived a 
duty worthy of her sex and nature, advanced with the 
dignity of injured female feeling, to the door, followed by 
Isabella. The apartment to which Sarah had been con- 
veyed was in one of the wings of the building, and it com- 
municated with the principal hall of the cottage by a long 
and dark passage. This was now light, and across its cer- 


THE SPY 


- 299 


mination several figures were seen rushing with an im- 
petuosity that prevented an examination of their employ- 
ment. 

■‘Let us advance,” said Miss Peyton, with a firmness her 
face belied: “they must respect our sex.” 

“They shall,” cried Isabella, taking the lead in the enter- 
prise. Prances was left alone with her sister. A few 
minutes were passed in silence; when a loud crash, in the 
upper apartments, was succeeded by a bright light that 
glared through the open door, and made objects as distinct 
to the eye as if they were placed 'under a noon-day sun. 
Sarah raised herself on her bed, and staring wildly around, 
pressed both her hands on her forehead, endeavouring to 
recollect herself — 

“This, then, is heaven — and you are one of its bright 
spirits. Oh! how glorious is its radiance! I had thought 
the happiness I have lately experienced was too much for 
earth. But we shall meet again — yes — yes — we shall meet 
again.” 

“Sarah! Sarah!” cried Frances, in terror; “my sister — 
my only sister — Oh! do not smile so horridly: know me, 
or you will break my heart.” 

“Hush,” said Sarah, raising her hand for silence; “you 
may disturb his rest — surely, he will follow me to the 
grave. Think you there can be two wives in the grave? 
No — no — no — one — one — one — only one.” 

Frances dropped her head, into the lap of her sister, and 
wept in agony. 

“Do you shed tears, sweet angel?” continued Sarah, 
soothingly; “then heaven is not exempt from grief. But 
where is Henry? He was executed, and he must be here 
too; perhaps they will come together. Oh, how joyful will 
be the meeting!” 

Frances sprang on her feet, and paced the apartment. 
The eye of Sarah followed her in childish admiration of 
her beauty. 

“You look like my sister; but all good and lovely spirits 
are alike. Tell me, were you ever married? Did you ever 


300 


THE SPY 


let a stranger steal your affections from father, and brother, 
and sister? If not, poor wretch, I pity you, although you 
may be in heaven,” 

“Sarah — peace, peace — I implore you to be silent,” 
shrieked Frances, rushing to her bed, “or you will kill me, 
at your feet.” 

Another dreadful crash shook the building to its centre.' 
It was the falling of the roof, and the flames threw their 
light abroad, so as to make objects visible around the cot- 
tage, through the windows of the room. Frances flew to 
one of them, and saw the confused group that was collected', 
on the lawn. Among them Avere her aunt and Isabella,! 
pointing with distraction to the fiery edifice, and apparently ; 
urging the dragoons to enter it. For the first time shei 
comprehended their danger; and uttering a wild shriek, 
she flew through the passage without consideration, or 
object. 

A dense and suffocating column of smoke opposed her 
progress. She paused to breathe, when a man caught her^. 
in his arms, and bore her, in a state of insensibility® 
through the falling embers and darkness, to the open air J 
The instant that Frances recovered her recollection, sh^ 
perceived that she owed her life to Lawton, and throwing 
herself on her knees, she cried — M 

“Sarah! Sarah! Sarah! save my sister, and may th^ 
blessing of God await you!” M 

Her strength failed, and she sunk on the grass, in insen^ 
sibility. The trooper pointed to her figure, motioned to 
Katy for assistance, and advanced once more to the build] 
ing. The firfe had already communicated to the wood-work 
of the piazzas and windows, and the whole exterior of the 
cottage was covered with smoke. The only entrance Avas 
through these dangers, and even the hatdy and impetuous 
Lawton paused -to consider. It was for a moment only,* 
when he dashed into the heat and darkness, where, miss- 
ing the entrance, he wandered for a minute, and precipij 
fated himself back, again, upon the lawn. Drawing a singly 
breath of pure air, he renewed the effort, and was againj 
unsuccessful. On a third trial, he met a man staggering 


THE SPY 


301 


under the load of a human body. It was neither the place, 
nor was there time, to question, or to make distinctions; 
seizing both in his arms, with gigantic strength, he bore 
them through the smoke. He soon perceived, to his aston- 
ishment, that it was the surgeon, and the body of one of 
the Skinners, that he had saved. 

“Archibald!” he exclaimed, “why, in the name of justice, 
did you bring this miscreant to light again? His deeds 
are rank to heaven!” 

The surgeon, who had been in imminent peril, was too 
much bewildered to reply instantly, but wiping the mois- 
ture from his forehead, and clearing his lungs from the 
vapour he had inhaled, he said piteously — 

“Ah! it is all over! Had I beep in time to have stopped 
the effusion from the jugular, he might have been saved; 
but the heat was conducive to hemorrhage; life is extinct 
indeed. Well, are there any more wounded'?” 

His question was put to the air, for Frances had been 
removed to the opposite side of the building, where her 
friends were collected, and Lawton once, more had dis-* 
appeared in the smoke. 

By this time the flames had dispersed much of the 
suffocating vapour, so that the trooper was able to find 
the door, and in its very entrance he was met by a man 
supporting the insensible Sarah. There was but barely 
time to reach the lawn again, before the fire broke through 
the windows, and wrapped the whole building in a sheet of 
flame. 

“God be praised!” ejaculated the preserver of Sarah; “it 
would have been a dreadful death to die.” 

The trooper turned from gazing at the edifice, to the 
speaker, and to his astonishment, instead of one of his own 
men, he beheld the pedler. 

“Ha! the spy,” he exclaimed: “by heavens, you cross me 
like a spectre.” 

“Captain Lawton,” said Birch, leaning in momentary 
exhaustion against the fence, to which they had retired 
from the heat, “I am again in your power, for T can neither 
fiee, nor resist.” 


302 


THE SPY 


” “The cause of America is dear to me as life,” said the 
trooper; “but she cannot require her children to forget i 
gratitude and honour. Fly, unhappy man, while yet you 
are unseen, or it will exceed my power to save you.” 

“May God prosper you, and make you victorious over 
your enemies,” said Birch, grasping the hand of the dra- 
goon with an iron strength that his meagre figure did not ■ 
indicate. 

“Hold!” said Lawton; “but a word — are you what you 
seem — can you — are you — ” 

“A royal spy,” interrupted Birch, averting his face, and 
endeavouring to releas^ his hand. 

“Then go, miserable wretchj’ said the trooper, relin- ^ 
quishing his grasp; “either avarice or delusion has led a 
noble heart astray!” 

The bright light from the fiames reached a great dis- 
tance around the ruins, hut the words were hardly past ' 
the lips of Lawton, before the gaunt form of the pedler had 
glided over the visible space, and plunged into the dark- f 
ness beyond. ■ ; 

The eye of Lawton rested for a moment on the spot_ where jp 
he had last seen this inexplicable man, and then turning to 
the yet insensible Sarah, he lifted her in his arms, and 
bore her, like a sleeping infant, to the care of her friends. ' 




CHAPTER XXIII 


And now her charms are fading fast, 

Her spirits now no more are gay: • 

Alas! that beauty cannot last! 

That flowers so sweet so soon decay! n 

How sad appears 
The vale of years, 

How changed from youth’s too flattering scene! 

Where are her fond admirers gone? 

Alas! and shall there then be none 
' On whom her soul may lean? 

Cynthia’s Grave. 

The walls of the cottage were all that was left of the 
building; and these, blackened by smoke, and stripped of 
their piazzas and ornaments, were but dreary memorials 
of the content and security that had so lately reigned 
within. The roof, together with the rest of the wood-work, 
had tumbled into the cellars, and a pale and flitting light, 
ascending from their embers, shone faintly through the 
windows. The early flight of the Skinners left the dragoons 
at liberty to exert themselves in Saving much of the furni- 
ture, which lay scattered in heaps on the lawn, giving the 
finishing touch of desolation to the scene. Whenever a 
stronger ray of light than common shot upwards, the com- 
posed figures of Sergeant Hollister and his associates, sit- 
ting on their horses in rigid discipline, were to be seen in 
the background of the picture, together with the beast of 
VIrs. Flanagan, which, having slipped its bridle, was quietly 
grazing by the highway. Betty herself had advanced to 
:he spot where the Sergeant was posted, and, with an in- 
credible degree of composure, witnessed the whole of the 
events as they occurred. More than once she suggested to 
ler companion, that, as the fighting seemed to be over, the 
)ioper time for plunder had arrived; but the veteran 


304 


THE SPY 


acquainted her with his orders, and remained both inflex- 
ible and immoveable; until the washerwoman, obseiving|| 
Lawton come round the wing of the building with iSarah, 
ventured amongst the warriors. The Captain, after plac- 
ing Sarah on a sofa that had been hurled from the building 
by two of his men, retired, that the ladies might succeed 
him in his care. Miss .Peyton and her niece flew, with a 
rapture that w^as blessed with a momentary forgetfulness 
of all but her preservation, to receive Sarah from the 
trooper; but the vacant eye, and flushed cheek, restored 
them instantly to their recollection. 

“Sarah, my child, my beloved niece,” said the former, 
folding the unconscious bride in her arms, “you are saved, 
and may the blessing of God await him who has been the 
instrument.” 

“See,” said Sarah, gently pushing her aunt aside, and 
pointing to the glimmering ruins, “the windowb are illumi- 
nated in honour of my arrival. They always receive a^ 
bride thus — he told me they would do no ^ess; listen, and 
you will hear the bells.” 

“Here is no bride, no rejoicing, nothing but wo!” cried 
Frances, in a manner but little less frantic than that of her 
sister; “Oh! may Heaven restore you to us — to yourself!” 

“Peace, foolish young woman,” said Sarah, with a smile 
of affected pity; “all cannot be happy at the same moment; 
perhaps you have no brother, or husband, to console you; 
you look beautiful, and you will yet find one; but,” she 
continued, dropping her voice to a whisper, “see that he 
has no other wife — ’tis dreadful to think what might 
happen, should he be twice married.” 

“The shock has destroyed her mind,” cried Miss Peyton: 
“my child, my beauteous Sarah is a maniac!” 

“No, no, no,” cried Frances, “it is fever; she is light- 
headed — she must recover — she shall recover.” 

The aunt caught joyfully at the hope conveyed in this 
suggestion, and despatched Katy to request the immediate 
aid and advice of Dr. Sitgreaves. The surgeon was found 
enquiring among the men for professional employment 
and inquisitively examining every bruise and scratch that 


THE SPY 


305 


tie could induce the sturdy warriors to acknowledge they 
dad received. A summons, of the sort conveyed by Katy, 
was instantly obeyed, and not a minute elapsed before he 
was by the side of Miss Peyton. 

“This is a melancholy termination to so joyful a com- 
mencement of the night, madam,” he observed, in a sooth- 
ing manner; “but war must bring its attendant miseries; 
though doubtless it often supports the cause of liberty, and 

i improves the knowledge of surgical science.” 

Miss Peyton could make no reply, but pointed to her 
niece, in agony. 

“ ’Tis fever,” answered Frances; “see how glassy is her 
jjjeye, and 'look at her cheek, how flushed.” 

The surgeon stood for a moment, deeply studying the 
outward symptoms of his patient, and then he silently took 
her hand in his own. It was seldom that the hard and 
abstracted features of Sitgreaves discovered any violent 
emotion; all his passions seemed schooled, and his counte- 
nance did not often betray what, indeed, his heart fre- 
quently f It. In the present instance, however, the eager 
gaze of the aunt and sister quickly detected bis emotions. 
After laying his Angers for a minute on the beautiful arm, 
which, bared to the elbow, and glittering with jewels, Sarah 
suffered him to retain, he dropped it, and dashing a hand 
over his eyes, turned sorrowfully- away. 

“Here is no fever to excite — 'tis a case, my dear madam, 
for time and care only; these, with the blessing of God, 
may effect a cure.” 

“And where is the wretch who has caused this ruin?’ 
exclaimed Singleton, rejecting the support of his man, anrl 
making an effort to rise from the chair, to which he had 
been driven by debility. “It is in vain that we overcome 
our enemies, if, conquered, they can inflict such wounds 
as this.” 

“Dost think, foolish boy,” said Lawton, with a bitter 
smile, “that hearts can feel in a colony? What is America 
but a satellite of England — to move as she moves, follow 
where she wists, and shine, that the mother country may 
become more splendid by her radiance? Surely you forget 


306 


THE SPY 


that it is honour enough for a colonist to receive ruin from, 
the hand of a child of Britain.” 

“I forget not that I wear a sword,” said Singleton, falling 
back exhausted; “but was there no willing arm ready to 
avenge that lovely sufferer — to appease the wrongs of thisj 
hoary father?” 

“Neither- arms, nor hearts are wanting, sir, in such a 
cause,” said the trooper fiercely; “but chance oftentimes 
helps the wicked. By heavens. I’d give Roanoke himself, 
j for a clear field with the miscreant!” 

“Nay! Captain dear, no be parting with the horse, any 
way,” said Betty; “it is no trifle that can be had by jist 
asking of the right person, if yee’re in need of silver, and 
the baste is sure of foot, and jumps like a squirrel.” 

“Woman, fifty horses, ay, the best that were ever reared 
on the banks of the Potomac, would be but a paltry price, 
for one blow at a villain.” 

“Come,” said the surgeon, “the night air can do no serv- 
ice to George, or these ladies, and it is incumbent on us 
to remove them where they can find surgical attendance 
and refreshment. Here is nothing but smoking ruins and.’ 
the miasma of the swamps.” 

To this rational proposition no objection could be raised, . 
and the necessary orders were issued by Lawton to remove 
the whole party to the Four Corners. 

America furnished but few and very indifferent carriage- | 
makers at the period of which we write, and every vehicle, | 
that in the least aspired to that dignity, was the manufac- | 
ture of a London mechanic. When Mr. Wharton left the ! 



of a carriage; and, at the time Miss Peyton and his daugh- | 
ters joined him in his retirement, they had been conveyed | 
to the cottage in the heavy chariot that had once so im- 
posingly rolled through the windings of Queen Street, or 
emerged, with sombre dignity, into the more spacious 
drive of Broadway. This vehicle stood, undisturbed, where ' 
it had been placed on its arrival, and the age of the horses : 
alone had protected the favourites of Cagsar from sequestra- 
tion by the contending forces in tbeir neighbourhood. With i 


THE SPY 


307 


a heavy heart, the black, assisted by a few of the dragoons, 
proceeded to prepare it for the reception of the ladies. 
It was a cumbrous vehicle, whose faded linings and tar- 
nished hammercloth, together with its panels of changing 
colour, denoted the want of that art which had once given 
it lustre and beauty. The “lion couchant” of the Whar- 
ton arms was reposing on the reviving splendour of a 
I blazonry that told the armorial bearings of a prince of the 
I church; and the mitre, that already began to shine through 
its American mask, was a symbol of the rank of its original 
f owner. The chaise whi^h conveyed Miss Singleton was 
' also- safe, for the stable and outbuildings had entirely 
escaped the flames: it certainly had been no part of the 
plan of the marauders to leave so well-appointed a stud 
behind them, but the suddenness of the attack by Lawton, 

I not only disconcerted their arrangements on this point, but 
on many others also. A guard was left on the ground, 
under the command of Hollister, who, having discovered 
that his enemy was of mortal mould, took his position with 
admirable coolness, and no little skill, to guard against 
surprise. He drew off his small party to such a distance 
from the ruins, that it was effectually concealed in the 
darkness, while at the same time the light continued suffi- 
ciently powerful to discover any one who might approach 
the lawn with an intent to plunder. 

Satisfled with this judicious arrangement. Captain Law- 
ton made his dispositions for the march. Miss Peyton, her 
two nieces, and Isabella, were placed in the chariot, while 
the cart of Mrs. Flanagan, amply supplied with blankets 
and a bed, was honoured with the person of Captain Single- 
ton. Dr. Sitgreaves took charge of the chaise and Mr. 
Wharton. What became of the rest of the family, during 
that eventful night, is unknown: for Caesar alone, of the 
domestics, was to be found, if we except the housekeeper. 
Having disposed of the whole party in this manner, Lawton 
gave the word to march. He remained himself, for a few 
minutes, alone, on the lawn, secreting various pieces of 
plate and other valuables, that he was fearful might tempt 
the cupidity of his own men; when, perceiving nothing 


308 


TJTE SPY 


more that he conceived likely to overcome their honesty, he ^ 
threw himself into the saddle with the soldierly intention 
of bringing up the rear. 

"Stop, stop,” cried a female voice: "will you leave me 
alone to be murdered? the spoon is melted, I believe, and 
ril have compensation, if there’s law or justice in this 
unhappy land.” 

Lawton turned an eye in the direction of the sound, and ( 
perceived a female emerging from the ruins, loaded with a I 
bundle, that vied in size with the renowned pack of the : 
pedler. 

"Who have we here,” said the trooper, "rising like a j 
phoenix from the flames? Oh! by the soul of Hippocrates, I 
but it is the identical she-doctor, of famous needle reputa- i 
tion. Well, good woman, what, means this outcry?” 

"Outcry!” echoed Katy, panting for breath; "is it not 
disparagement enough to lose a silver spoon, but I must be 
left alone in this lonesome place, to be robbed, and perhaps 
murdered? Harvey would not serve me so: when I lived ' 
with Harvey, I was always treated with respect, at least, , 
if he was a little close with his secrets, and wasteful of his i 
money.” 

"Then, madam, you once formed part of the household ■ 
of Mr. Harvey Birch?” 

"You may say I was the whole of his household,” re- 
turned the other; "there was nobody but I, and he, and 
the old gentleman^ you didn’t know the old gentleman, 
perhaps?” j 

"That happiness was denied me: how long did you live i 
in the family of Mr. Birch?” 

"I disremember the precise time, but it must have been ! 
hard on upon nine years: and what better am I for it all?” 

"Sure enough; I can see but little benefit that you have 
derived from the association, truly. But is there not some- 
thing unusual in the movements and character of this Mr, 
Birch?” 

"Unusual is an easy word for such unaccountables!” 
replied Katy, lowering her voice, and looking around her: 
"he was a wonderful disregardful man, and minded a 


THE SPY 


309 


i guinea no more than I do a kernel of corn. But help me 
s to some way of joining Miss Jinitt, and I will tell you 
j prodigies of what Harvey has done, first and last.” 

I "You will!” exclaimed the trooper, musing: "here, give 
me leave to feel your arm above the elbow. There — you 
are not deficient in bone, let the blood be as it may.” 'So 
saying, he gave the spinster a sudden whirl, that effectually 
confused all her faculties, until she found herself safely, if 

II not comfortably, seated" on the crupper of Lawton’s steed. 

"Now, madam, you have the consolation of knowing that 
you are as well mounted as Washington. The nag is sure 
i of foot, and will leap like a panther.” 

f "Let me get down” cried Katy, struggling to release 
herself from his iron grasp, and yet afraid of falling; "this 
I is no way to put a woman on a horse; besides, I can’t 'ride 
? without a pillion.” 

: "Softly, good madam,” said Lawton, "for although Roa- 
noke never falls before, he sometimes rises, behind. He is 
far from being accustomed to a pair of heels beating upon 
his fianks like a drum-major on a field day; a single touch 
of the spur will serve him for a fortnight, and it is by no 
means wise to be kicking in this manner, for he is a horse 
that but little likes to be outdone.” 

"Let me down, I say,” screamed Katy; "I shall fall and 
be killed. Besides, I have nothing to hold on with; my 

( arms are full of valuables.” 

"True,” returned the trooper, observing that he had 
brought bundle and all from the ground; "I perceive that 
you belong to the baggage-guard; but my sword-belt will 
encircle your little waist, as well as ^my own.” 

Katy was too much pleased with this compliment to 
make any resistance, while he buckled her close to his own 
herculean frame, and, driving a spur into nis charger, they 
flew from the lawn with a rapidity that defied further 
denial. After proceeding for some time, at a rate that a 
good deal discomposed the spinster, they overtook the cart 
of the washerwoman driving slowly over the stones, with a 
proper consideration for the wounds of Captain Singleton. 
The occurrences of that eventful night had produced an 


THE SPY 


•sio 

excitement in the young soldier, that was followed by the 
ordinary lassitude of reaction, and he lay carefully envel 
oped in blankets, and supported by his man, but little able 
to converse, though deeply brooding over the past. The 
dialogue between Lawton aind his companion ceased witl 
the commencement of their motions, but a foot-pace being 
more favourable to speech, the trooper began anew — 

“Then, you have been an inmate in the same house with 
Harvey Birch?” 

“For more than nine years,” said Katy, drawing her 
breath, and rejoicing greatly that their speed was abated. 

The deep tones of the trooper’s voice were no sooner con- 
veyed to the ears of the washerwoman, than, turning her. 
head, where she sat directing the movements of the mare,' 
she put into the discourse at the first pause — 

“Belike, then, good woman, yee’r knowing whether or 
no he’s akin to Beelzeboob,” said Betty; “it’s Sargeant; 
Hollister who’s saying the same, and no fool is the Sar-‘ 
geant, any way.” 

“It’s a scandalous disparagement,” cried Katy, vehe-i 
mently; “no kinder soul than Harvey carries a pack; and' 
for a gown or a tidy apron, he will never take a king’s 
farthing from a friend. Beelzebub, indeed! For what 
would he read the Bible, if he had dealings with the evil 
spirit?” 

“He’s an honest divil, any way; as I was saying before, 
the guinea was pure. But then the Sargeant thinks him 
amiss, and it’s no want of laming that Mister Hollister 
has.” 

“He’s a fool!” said Katy, tartly; “Harvey might be a 
man of substance, were he not so disregardful. How often 
have I told him, that if he did nothing but peddle, and 
would put his gains to use, and get married, se that things 
at home could be kept within doors, and leave off his deal- 
ings with the rig’lars, and alL incumberments, that he 
would soon become an excellent liver. Sergeant Hollister 
would be glad to hold a candle to him, indeed!” 

“Pooh!” said Betty, in her philosophical way; “yee’r no 
thinking that Mister Hollister' is an officer, and stands next 


THE SPY 


311 


he cornet, in the troop. But this pidler gave warning of 
i he brush the night, and it’s no sure that Captain Jack 
f vould have got the day, but for the reinforcement.” 

“How say you, Betty,” cried the trooper, bending for- 
vard on his saddle, “had you notice of our danger from 
3irch?” 

“The very same, darling; and it’s hurry I was till the 
loys was in motion; not but I knew yee’r enough for the 
Z!ow-Boys any time. But wid the divil on your side, I was 
>ure of the day. I’m only wondering there’s so little 
plunder, in a business of Beelzebocb’s contriving.” 

“I’m obliged to you for the rescue, and equally indebted 
:o the motive.” 

“Is it the plunder? But little did I tink of it till I saw 
the moveables on the ground, some burnt, and some broke, 
ind other some as good as new. It would be convanient 
to have one featherbed in the corps, any way.” 

“By heavens, ’twas timely succour! Had not Roanoke 
been swifter than their bullets, I must have fallen. The 
animal is worth his weight in gold.” 

“It’s continental, you mane, darling. Goold weighs 
heavy, and is no plenty in the states. If the nagur hadn’t 
been staying and frighting the Sargeant with his copper- 
coloured looks, and a matter of blarney ’bout ghosts, we 
should have been in time to have killed all the dogs, and 
taken the rest prisoners.” 

“It is very well as it is, Betty,” said Lawton; “a day will 
yet come, I trust, when these miscreants shall be rewarded, 
if not in judgments upon their persons, at least in the 
opinions of their fellow-citizens. The time must arrive 
when America will learn to distinguish between a patriot 
and a robber.” 

‘Speak Tow,” said Katy; “there’s some who think much 
of themselves, that have doings with the Skinners.” 

“It’s more they are thinking of themselves, then, than 
other people thinks of them,” cried Betty; “a tief’s a tief, 
any way; w^hether he stales for King George or for Con- 
gress.” 

“I know’d that evil would soon happen,” said Katy; “the 


312 


THE SPY 


sun set to-night behind a black cloud, and the house-dog 
whined, although I gave him his supper with my own 
hands; besides, it’s not a week sin’ I dreamed the dream 
about the thousand lighted candles, and the cakes being f 
burnt in the oven.” I 

“Well,” said Betty, “it’s but little I drame, any way. 
.list keep an asy conscience and a plenty of the stuff in^ 
yee, and yee’ll sleep like an infant. The last drame I had 
was when the boys put the thistle-tops in the blankets, and 
then 1 was thinking that Captain Jack’s man was currying 
me down, for the matter of Roanoke; but it's no trifle 1 
mind either in skin or stomach.” J 

“I’m sure,” said Katy, with a stiff erection that drew 
Lawton back in his saddle, “no man shall ever dare to lay 
hands on bed of mine; it’s undecent and despisable con- 
duct.” 

“Pooh! pooh!” cried Betty; “if you tag after a troop 
of horse, a small bit of a joke must be borne: what would 
become of the states and liberty, if the boys had never a 
clane shirt, or a drop to comfort them? Ask Captain 
Jack, there, if they’d flght, Mrs. Beelzeboob, and they no 
clane linen to keep the victory in.” 

“I’m a single woman, and my name is Haynes,” said 
Katy, “and I’d thank you to use no disparaging terms 
when speaking to me.” 

“You must tolerate a little license in the tongue of Mrs. i 
Flanagan, madam,” said the trooper; “the drop she speaks | 
of is often of an extraordinary size, and then she has ac- i 
quired the freedom of a soldier’s manner.” 

“Pooh! Captain darling,” cried Betty, “why do you j 
bother the woman? talk like yeerself, dear, and it’s no fool 
of a tongue that yee’ve got in yeer own head. But it’s j 
here away that the Sargeant made a halt, thinking there j 
might be more divils than one stirring, the night. The | 
clouds are as black as Arnold’s heart, and deuce the star 
is there twinkling among them. Well, the mare is used to 
a march after nightfall, and is smelling out the road like a > 
pointer slut.” 

“It wants but little to the rising moon.” observed the 


THE SPY 


313 


trooper. He called a dragoon, who was riding in advance, 
issued a few orders and cautions relative to the comfort 
and safety of Singleton, and speaking a consoling word to 
his friend himself, gave Roanoke the spur, and dashed by 
the cart, at a rate that again put to flight all the philosophy 
of Katharine Haynes. 

“Good luck to yee, for a free rider and a bold!” shouted 
the washerwoman, as he passed; “if yee’re meeting Mister 
Beelzeboob, just back the baste up to him, and show him his 
consort that yee’ve got on the crupper. I’m thinking it’s 
no long he’d tarry to chat. Well, well, it’s his life that we 
saved, he was saying so himself — though the plunder is 
nothing to signify.” 

The cries of Betty Flanagan were too familiar to the 
ears of Captain Lawton to elicit a reply. Notwithstanding 
the unusual burden that Roanoke sustained, he got over 
the ground with great rapidity, and the distance between 
the cart of Mrs. Flanagan and the chariot of Miss Peyton 
was passed in a manner that, however it answered the 
intentions of the trooper, in no degree contributed to the 
comfort of his companion. The meeting occurred but a 
short distance from the quarters of Lawton, and at the 
same instant the moon broke from behind a mass of clouds, 
and threw its light upon objects. 

Compared with the simple elegance and substantial com- 
fort of the Locusts, the “Hotel Flanagan” presented but a 
dreary spectacle. In the place of carpeted floors and cur- 
tained windows, were the yawning cracks of a rudely- 
constructed dwelling, and boards and paper were ingen- 
iously applied to supply the place of the green glass in 
more than half the lights. The care of Lawton had antici- 
pated every improvement that their situation would allow, 
and blazing fires were made before the party arrived. The 
dragoons, who had been charged with this duty, had con- 
veyed a few necessary articles of furniture, and Miss 
Peyton and her companions, on alighting, found something 
like habitable apartments prepared for their reception. 
The mind of Sarah had continued to wander during the 
ride, and, with the ingenuity of the insane, she accommo- 


314 


TPIFJ SPY 


dated every circumstance to the feelings that were upper- j 
most in her own bosom. 

“It is impossible to minister to a mind that has sus- 
tained such a blow,” said Lawton to Isabella Singleton; 
‘‘time and God’s mercy can alone cure it; but something 
more may be done towards the bodily comfort of all. You 
are a soldier’s daughter, and used to scenes like this; help 
me to exclude some of the cold air from these window^s.”, 

Miss Singleton acceded to his request^ and while Lawton 
was endeavouring, from without, to remedy the defect of 
broken panes, Isabella was arranging a substitute for a 
curtain within. 

“I hear the cart,” said the trooper, in reply to one of her 
interrogatories. “Betty is tender-hearted in the main; 
believe me, poor George will not only be safe, but com- 
fortable.” 

“God bless her, for her care, and bless you all,” said 
Isabella, fervently. “Dr. Sitgreaves has gone down the 
road to meet him, I know — what is that glittering in the^ 
moon?” 

Directly opposite the window where they stood, were the 
outbuildings of the farm, and the quick eye of Lawdon 
caught at a glance the object to which she alluded. 

“ ’Tis the glare of fire-arms,” said the trooper, springing 
from the window towards his charger, which/ yet remained 
caparisoned at the door. His movement was quick as 
thought, but a flash of fire w^as followed by the whistlingl 
of a bullet, before he had proceeded a step. A loud shriek 
burst from the dwelling, and the Captain sprang into his 
saddle: the whole was the business of but a moment. 

“Mount — mount, and follow^” shouted the trooper; and 
before his astonished men could understand the cause of 
alarm, Roanoke had carried him in safety over the fence 
which lay between him and his foe. The chase was for 
life or death, but the distance to the rocks was again too 
short, and the disappointed trooper s^w his intended vic- 
tim vanish in their clefts, where he could not follow. 

“By the life of Washington,” muttered Lawton, as he 
sheathed his sabre, “I would have made two halves of him, 


had he not been so nimble on the foot — but a time will 
come!” So saying, he returned to his quarters, with the 
indifference of a man who knew his life was at any moment 
to be offered a sacrifice to his country. An extraordinary 
tumult in the house induced him to quicken his speed, and 
on arriving at the door, the panic-stricken Katy informed 
him that the bullet, aimed at his own life, had taken effect 
in the bosom of Miss Singleton.- 


CHAPTER XXIV 


Hush’d were his Gertrude’s lips! hut still their bland 
And beautiful expression seem’d to melt 
With love that could not die! and still his hand 
She presses to the heart no more that felt. 

Gertrude of Wyoming. 

The brief arrangements of the dragoons had prepared 
two apartments for the reception of the ladies, the one 
being intended as a sleeping room, and situated within the 
other. Into the latter Isabella was immediately conveyed, 
at her own request, and placed on a rude bed by the side 
of the unconscious Sarah* When Miss Peyton and Frances 
flew to her assistance, they found her with a smile on her 
pallid lip, and a composure in her countenance, that in- 
duced them to think her uninjured. 

■“God be praised!” exclaimed the trembling aunt; “the 
report of fire-arms, and your fall, had led me into an error. 
Surely, surely, there was enough of horror before; but this 
has been spared us.” 

Isabella pressed her hand upon her bosom, still smiling, 
but with a ghastliness that curdled the blood of Frances, — 

• “Is George far distant?” she . asked, “let him know — 
hasten him, that I may see my brother, once again.” 

“It is as I apprehended!” shrieked Miss Peyton; “but 
you smile — surely you are not hurt!” 

“Quite well — quite happy,” murmured Isabella; “here is 
a remedy for every pain.” 

Sarah arose from the reclining posture she had taken, 
and gazed wildly at her companioh. She stretched forth 
her own hand, and raised that of Isabella from her* bosom. 
It was dyed in blood. 

“See,” said Sarah, “but will it not wash away love? 
Marry, young woman, and then no one can expel him from 
your heart, unless” — she added, whispering, and bending 


THE SPY 


317 


i< 

over the other, — “you find another there before you; then 
[ die, and go to heaven — there are no wives in heaven.” 

; The lovely maniac hid her face under the clothes, and 
jcontinued silent during the remainder of the night. At 
this moment Lawton entered. Inured as he was to danger 
:in all its forms, and accustomed to the horrors of a parti- 
isan war, the trooper could not behold the ruin before him, 
unmoved. He bent over the fragile form of Isabella, and 
I his gloomy eye betrayed the workings of his soul. 

' “Isabella,” he at length uttered, “I know you to possess 
a courage beyond the strength of women.” 

' “Speak,” she said, earnestly; “if you have any thing to 
. say, speak fearlessly.” 

The trooper averted his face as he replied — “None ever 
receive a ball there, and survive.” 
l' “I have no dread of death, Lawton,” returned Isabella — 
,1 “1 thank you for not doubting me; I felt.it, from the first.” 

I “These are not scenes for a form like yours,” added the 
I trooper: “ ’tis enough that Britain calls our youth to the 
' field; but when such loveliness becomes the victim of war, 
I sicken of my trade.” 

j “Hear me. Captain Lawton,” said Isabella, raising her- 
! self v/ith difficulty, but rejecting aid: “from early woman- 
hood to the present hour have I been an inmate of camps 
and garrisons. I have lived to cheer the leisure of an aged 
I father, and think you I would change those days of danger 
' and privation for any ease? No! I have the consolation of 
knowing, in my dying moments, that what woman could 
do in such a cause, I have done.” 

“Who could prove a recreant, and witness such a spirit! 
Hundreds of warriors have I witnessed in their blood, but 
never a firmer soul among them all.” 

“ ’Tis the soul only,” said Isabella; “my sex and strength 
have denied me the dearest of privileges. But to you. 
Captain Lawton, nature has been more bountiful: you 
have an arm and a heart to devote to the cause; and I 
know they are an arm and a heart that will prove true to 
the last. And George — and — ” she paused, her lip quivered, 
and her eye sunk to the floor. 


318 


THE SPY 


“And Dunwoodie!” added the trooper; “would you speak) 
of Dunwoodie?” 

“Name him not,” said Isabella, sinking back, and con-1 
cealing her face in her garments: “leave me, Lawton — 
prepare poor George for this unexpected blow.” 

The trooper continued for a little while gazing, in melan ii 
choly interest, at the convulsive shudderings of her frame, 
which the scanty covering could not conceal, and withdrew 
to meet his comrade. The interview between Singleton] 
and his sister was painful, and, for a moment, Isabella i 
yielded to a burst of tenderness; but, as if aware that her 
hours were numbered, she was the first to rouse herself to 
exertion. At her earnest request, the room was left to 
herself, the Captain, and Frances. The repeated applica- : 
tions of the surgeon, to be permitted to use professional 
aid, were steadily rejected, and, at length, he was obliged 
unwillingly to retire. 

“Raise me,” said the dying young woman, “and let me 
look on a face that I love, once more.” Frances silently 
complied, and Isabella turned her eyes in sisterly affection 
upon George — “It matters but little, my brother; — a few 
hours must close the scene.” 

“Live, Isabella, my sister, my only sister!” cried the 
youth, with a burst of sorrow that he could not control; 
“my father! my poor father — ” 

“There is the sting of death; but he is a soldier and a 
Christian. Miss Wharton, I would speak of what interests 
you, while yet I have strength for the task.” 

“Nay,” said Frances, tenderly, “compose yourself; let no 
desire to oblige me endanger a life that is precious to — 
to — so many.” The words were nearly stifled by her emo- 
tions, for the other had touched a chord that thrilled to 
her heart. 

“Poor, sensitive girl!” said Isabella, regarding her with 
tender interest; “but the world is still before you, and why* 
should I disturb the little happiness it may afford! Dream 
on, lovely innocent! and may God keep the evil day of 
knowledge far distant!” 

‘Oh, there is even now little left for me to enjoy,” said 


THE SPY 


319 


Frances, burying her face in the clothes, “T am heart- 
stricken, in all that I most loved.” 

“No!” interrupted Isabella; “you have one inducement 
to wish for life, that pleads strongly in a woman’s breast. 
It is a delusion that nothing but death can destroy — ” 
Exhaustion compelled her to pause, and her auditors con- 
tinued in breathless suspense, until, recovering her 
strength, she laid her hand on that of Prances, and con- 
tinued more mildly — “Miss Wharton, if there breathes a 
spirit congenial to Dunwoodie’s, and worthy of his love, it 
is your own.” 

A flush of fire passed over the face of the listener, and 
she raised her eyes, flashing with an ungovernable look 
of delight, to the countenance of Isabella; but the ruin she 
beheld recalled better feelings, and again her head dropped 
upon the covering of the bed. Isabella watched her emo- 
tion with a look that partook both of pity and admiration. 

“Such have been the feelings that I have escaped,” she 
continued ; “yes. Miss Wharton, Dunwoodie is wholly 
yours.” 

“Be just to yourself, my sister,” exclaimed the youth; 
“let no romantic generosity cause you to forget your own 
character.” 

She heard him, and fixed a gaze of tender interest on his 
face, but slowly shook her head as she replied — 

“It is not romance, but truth, that bids me speak. Oh! 
how much have I lived within an hour! Miss Wharton, I 
was born under a burning sun, and my feelings seem ta 
have imbibed its warmth; I have existed for passion, only.” 

“Say not so — say not so, I implore you,” cried the agi- 
tated brother; “think how devoted has been your love to 
our aged father; how disinterested, how tender, your affec- 
tion to me!” 

“Yes,” said Isabella, a smile of mild pleasure beaming 
on her countenance; “that, at least, is a reflection which 
may be taken to the grave.” 

Neither Frances nor her brother interrupted her medi- 
tations, Avhich continued for several minutes; when, sud- 
denly recollecting herself, she continued — 


320 


THE SPY 


“I remain selfish even to the last; with me, Miss Whar- 
ton, America and her liberties was my earliest passion, 
and” — again she paused, and Prances thought it was the 
struggle of death that followed; but reviving, she pro- 
ceeded — “Why should I hesitate, on the brink of the grave! 
Dunwoodie was my next and my last. But,” burying her 
face in her hands, “it was a love that was unsought.” 

“Isabella!” exclaimed her brother, springing from the 
bed, and pacing the floor in ^disorder. 

“See how dependent we become under the dominion of < 
wordly pride; it is painful to George to learn that one he j 
loves had not feelings superior to her nature and education.” ; 

“Say no more,” whispered Frances; “you distress us 
both — say no more, I entreat you.” i' 

“In justice to Dunwoodie I must speak; and for the same 
reason, my brother, you must listen. By no act or word 
has Dunwoodie ever induced me to believe, he wished me ; 
more than a friend: nay, latterly, I have had the burning \ 
shame of thinking that he avoided my presence.” 

“Would he dare!” said Singleton fiercely. 

“Peace, my brother, and listen,” continued Isabella, j 
rousing herself with an ^effort that was final; “here is the 
innocent, the justifiable cause. We are both motherless; 
but that aunt — that mild, plain-hearted, observing aunt, 
has given you ^he victory. Oh! how much she loses, who 
loses a female guardian to her youth. I have exhibited 
those feelings which you have been taught to repress. After 
this, can I wish to live?” 

“Isabella! my poor Isabella! you wander in your'mind.” 

“But one word more — for I feel that blood, which ever 
flowed too swiftly, rushing where nature never intended it 
to go. Woman must be sought to be prized; her life is 
one of concealed emotions; blessed are they whose early 
impressions make the task free from hypocrisy, for such 
only can be happy with men like — like Dunwoodie.” Her 
voice failed, and she sunk back on her pillow in silence. 
The cry of Singleton brought the rest of the party to her 
bedside, but death was already upon her countenance; her 


THE SPY 


321 


remaining strength just sufficed to reach the hand of 
George, and pressing it to her bosom for a moment, she re- 
linquished her grasp, and, with a slight convulsion, ex- 
pired. 

Frances Wharton had thought that fate had done its 
worst, in endangering the life of her brother, and de- 
stroying the reason of her sister; but the relief conveyed 
by the dying declaration of Isabella taught her that an- 
other sorrow had aided in loading her heart with grief. 
She saw the^ whole truth at a glance ; nor was the manljr 
delicacy of Dunwoodie lost upon her — every thing tended 
to raise him in her estimation; and, for mourning that 
was duty and pride had induced her to think less of him, 
she was compelled to substitute regret that her own act 
had driven him from her in sorrow, if not in desperation. 
It is not in the nature of youth, however, to despair; and 
Frances knew a secret joy in the midst of their distress, 
that gave a new spring to her existence. 

The sun broke forth, on the morning that succeeded this 
night of desolation, in unclouded lustre, and seemed to 
mock the petty sorrows of those who received his rays. 
Lawton had early ordered his steed, and was ready to 
mount as the first burst of light broke over the hills. His 
orders were already given, and the trooper threw his leg 
across the saddle in silence; and, casting a glance of fierce 
chagrin at the narrow space that had favoured the flight 
of the Skinner, he gave Roanoke the rein, and moved slowly 
towards the valley. 

The stillness of death pervaded the road, nor was there a 
single vestige of the scenes of the night, to tarnish the love- 
liness of a glorious morn. Struck with the contrast be- 
tween man and nature, the fearless trooper rode by each 
pass of danger, regardless of what might happen; nor did 
he rouse himself from his musing, until the noble charger, 
snuffing the morning air, greeted the steeds of the guard 
under Sergeant Hollister. , 

Here, indeed, was to be seen sad evidence of the mad- 
night fray; but the trooper glanced his eye over it with the 


322 


THE SPY 


coolness of one accustomed to such sights. Without wasting \ 

i I 

the moments in useless regrets, he. proceeded, at once, to 
business — . j 

“Have you seen any thing?” he demanded of the orderly. ; 

“Nothing, sir, that we dared to charge upon,” returned 
Hollister; “but we mounted once, at the report of dis- \ 
tant fire-arms.” 

“ ’Tis well,” said Lawton, gloomily. “Ah! Hollister, I 
would give the animal I ride, to have had your single arm 
between the wretch who drew that trigger and these useless ; 
rocks, which overhang every bit of ground, as if they | 
^ grudged pasture to a single hoof.” 

“Under the light of day, and charging man to man, I am 
as good as another; but I can’t say that I’m over-fond of 
fighting with those that neither steel nor lead can bring 
down.” I 

“What silly crochet is uppermost, now, in that mystified 
brain of thine. Deacon Hollister?” 

“I like not the dark object that has been manoeuvring in 
the skirt of the wood since the first dawn of day; and 
twice, during the night, it was seen marching across the 
fire-light, no doubt with evil intent.” 

“Is it yon ball of black, at the foot of the rock-maple, 
that you mean? In truth it moves.” 

“But without mortal motion,” said the Sergeant, regard- 
ing it with awful reverence: “it glides along, but no feet 
have been seen by any who watch here.” 

“Had it wings,” cried Lawton, “it is mine; stand fast, 
until I join.” The words were hardly uttered before 
Roanoke was flying across the plain, and apparently verify- 
ing the boast of his master. 

“Those cursed rocks!” ejaculated the trooper, as he saw 
the object of his pursuit approaching the hill-side; but, 
either from want of practice or from terror, it passed the 
obvious shelter they offered, and fled into the open plain. 

“I have you, man or devil!” shouted Lawton, whirling 
his sabre from its scabbard. “Halt, and take quarter!” 

His proposition was apparently acceded to; for, at the 
sound of his powerful voice, the figure sunk upon the 


THE SPY 


323 


ground, exhibiting a shapeless ball of black, without life or 
motion. 

“What have we here?” cried Lawton, drawing up by its 
; side; “a gala suit of the good maiden, .Jeanette Peyton, 
wandering around its birth-place, or searching in vain for 
; its discomfited mistress?” He leaned forward in his stir- 
I rups, and placing the point of his sword under the silken 
; garment, by throwing aside the covering, discovered part 
: of the form of the reverend gentleman who had fled from 
the Locusts, the evening before, in his robes of office. 

I “In truth, Hollister had some ground for his alarm; 
^ an army chaplain is, at any time, a terror to a troop of 
i horse.” 

The clergyman had collected enough of his disturbed 
i faculties, to discover that it was a face^ he knew, and, some- 
f; what disconcerted at the terror he had manifested, and the 
indecent attitude in which he had been found, he endeav- 
t; oured to rise, and offer some explanation. Lawton received 
i his apologies good-humouredly, if not with much faith in 
" their truth; and, after a short communication upon the 
1 state of the valley, the trooper courteously alighted, and 
j they proceeded towards the guard. 

[ “I am so little acquainted, sir, with the rebel uniform, 
that I really was unable to^ distinguish whether those men, 
whom you say are your own, did or did not belong to the 
gang of marauders.” 

“Apology, sir, is unnecessary,” replied the trooper, curl- 
ing his lip; “it is not your task, as a minister of God, to 
take note of the facings of a coat. The standard under 
which you serve is acknowledged by us all.” 

“I serve under the standard of his gracious majesty 
George III.,” returned-^ the priest, wiping the cold sweat 
from his brow; “but really the idea of being scalped has 
a strong tendency to unman a new beginner, like myself.” 

“Scalped!” echoed Lawton, stopping short in his whlk; 
then recollecting himself, he added, with composure, — “If 
it is to Dunwoodie’s squadron of Virginia light dragoons 
that you allude, it may be well to inform you that they 
generally take a bit of the skull with the skin.” 


324 


THE SPY 


“Oh! I can have no apprehensions of gentlemen of your’ 
appearance,” said the divine, with a smirk; “it is the- 
natives that I apprehend.” 

“Natives! I have the honour to be one, I do assure you,- 
sir.” 

“Nay, I beg that I may be understood — I mean the 
Indians; they who do nothing but rob, and murder, and 
destroy.” ^ . 

“And scalp!” 

“Yes, "sir, and scalp too,” continued the clergyman, eyeing 
his companion a little suspiciously; “the copper-coloured, 
savage Indians.” 

“And did you expect to meet those nose-jewelled gentry 
'in the neutral ground?” 

“Certainly; we understand in England that the interior- 
swarms with them.” 

“And call you this the interior of America?” cried Law- 
ton, again halting, and staring the other in the face, with 
a surprise too naturally expressed to be counterfeited. 

“Surely, sir, I conceive myself to be in the interior.” ^ 

“Attend,” said Lawton, pointing towards the east; “see 
: ou not that broad sheet of water which the eye cannot 
compass? thither lies the England you deem worthy to hold^ 
dominion over half the world. See you the land of your 
nativity?*’ 

’Tis impossible to behold objects at a distance of three 
thousand miles!” exclaimed the wondering priest, a little 
suspicious of his companion’s sanity. | 

“No! what a pity it is that the powers of man are not ^ 
equal to his ambition. Now turn your eyes westward; i 
observe that vast expanse of water which rolls between ^ 
the shores of America and China.” y 

“I see nothing but land,” said the trembling priest; “there ' 
is no water to be seen.” 

“ ’Tis impossible to behold objects at a distance of three J 
thousand miles!” repeated Lawton, pursuing his walk: “if^ 
you apprehend the savages, seek them in the ranks of your 
prince. Rum and gold have preserved their loyalty.” 

“Nothing is more probable than my being deceived,” and 


THE SPY 


325 


M 

I the man of peace, casting furtive glances at the colossal 
'‘ stature and whiskered front of his companion; “but the 
u rumours we have at home, and the uncertainty of meeting 
I with such an enemy as yourself, induced me to fly at your 
■ approach.” 

“ ’Twas not judiciously determined,” said the trooper, 
I “as Roanoke has the heels of you greatly; and flying from 
Scylla, you were liable to encounter Charybdis. Those 
woods and rocks cover the very enemies you dread.” 

, “The savages!” exclaimed the divine,. instinctively placing 
i the trooper in the rear. ' 

' “More than savages; men who, under the guise of patriot- 
ism, prowl through the community, with a thirst for plun- 
I der that is unsatiable, and a love of cruelty that mocks the 
ingenuity of th^ Indian. Fellows whfise mouths are fllled 
i with liberty and equality, and whose hearts are overflowing 
■\ with cupidity and gall — gentlemen that are yclep’d the 
if Skinners.” 

“I have heard them mentioned in our army,” said 
, the frightened divine, “and had thought them to be the 
aborigines.” 

“You did the savages injustice.” 

They now approached the spot occupied by Hollister, who 
witnessed with surprise the character of the prisoner made 
■ by his captain. Lawton gave his orders, and the men imme- 
diately commenced securing and removing, such articles of 
furniture as were thought worthy of the trouble; and the 
captain, with his reverend associate, who was mounted on 
a mettled horse, returned to the quarters of the troop. 

It was the wish of Singleton that the remains of his 
sister should be conveyed to the post commanded by his 
father, and preparations were early made to this effect. 
The wounded British were placed under the control of the 
chaplain; and towards the middle of the day Lawton saw 
all the arrangements so far completed, as to render it prob- 
able that in a few hours he would be left, with his small 
party, in undisturbed possession of the Corners. 

While leaning in the door-way, gazing in moody silence 
at the ground which had been the scene of last night’s 


326 


THE SPY 


chase, his ear caught the sound of a horse, and the next 
moment a dragoon of his own troop appeared dashing upi 
the road, as if on business of the last importance. The^ 
steed was foaming, and the rider had the appearance of 
having done a hard day’s .service. Without speaking, he i 
placed a letter in the hand of Lawton, and led his charger ! 
to the stable. The trooper knew the hand of the major, : 
and ran his eye over the following: — 

“I rejoice it is the order of Washington, that the family 
■of the Locusts are to be removed above the Highlands. 
They are to be admitted to the society of Captain Wharton, 
who waits only for their testimony to be tried. You will 
communicate this order, and with proper delicacy I do not l' 
doubt The English are moving up the river; and the 
moment you see the Whartons in safety, break up, and join i 
your troop. There will be good service to be done when 
we meet, as Sir Henry is reported to have sent out a real 
soldier in command. Reports must be made to the com^ 
mandant at Peekskill, for Colonel Singleton is withdrawn 
to head-quarters, to preside over the enquiry upon poor 
Wharton. Fresh orders have been sent to hang the pedler 
if we can take him, but they are not from the commander- 
in-chief. — Petail a small guard with the ladies, and get into 
tlie saddle as soon as possible. 

“Yours, sincerely, 

“Peytox Dunwoodie.” 

This communication entirely changed the whole arrange- 
ment. There was no longer any motive for removing the 
body of Isabella, since her father was^ no longer with his 
command, and Singleton reluctantly acquiesced in an im- 
mediate interment. A retired and lovely spot w'as selected, 
near the foot of the adjacent rocks, and such rude prepara- 
tions were made as the time and the situation of the 
country permitted, A few of the neighbouring inhabitants 
collected from curiosity and interest, and Miss Peyton and 
Frances wept in sincerity over her grave. The solemn 
offices of the church were performed by the minister, who 
had so lately stood forth to officiate in another and very 


THE SPY 


327 


' different duty; and Lawton bent his head, and passed his 
: hand across his brow, while the words that accompanied 
I the first clod were uttered. 

A new stimulus was given to the Whartons by the intelli- 
gence conveyed in the letter of Dunwoodie; and Caesar, with 
his horses, was once more put in requisition. The relics of 
the property were entrusted to a neighbour, in whom they' 
had confidence; and, accompanied by the unconscious Sarah, 
and attended by four dragoons and all of the American 
wounded, Mr. Wharton’s party took their departure. They 
were speedily followed by the English chaplain, with his 
countrymen, who were conveyed to the water-side, where a 
vessel was in waiting to receive them. Lawton joyfully 
witnessed these movements; and as soon as the latter were 
out of sight, he ordered his own bugle to sound. Every 
thing was instantly in motion. The mare of Mrs. Flanagan 
was again fastened to the cart; Dr. Sitgreaves exhibited his 
shapeless form once more on horseback; and the trooper 
appeared in the saddle, rejoicing in his emancipation. 

The word to march was given; and Lawton, throwing a 
look of sullen ferocity at the place of the Skinner’s conceal- 
ment, and another of melancholy regret towards the grave 
of Isabella, led the w^ay, accompanied by the surgeon in a 
brown study; while Sergeant Hollister and Betty brought 
up the rear, leaving a fresh southerly wind to whistle 
through the open doors and broken windows of the “Hotel 
Flanagan,” where the laugh of hilarity, the joke of the 
hardy partisan, and the lamentations of the sorrowing, had 
so lately echoed. * 


CHAPTER XXV 


No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, f 

* . But winter, lingering, chills the lap of May ; « 

No zephyr fon^y sues the mountain's breast, 

But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. I 

Goldsmith. f 

The roads of West-Chester are, at this hour, below the' ^ 
improvements of the country. Their condition at the time , 
of the tale has already been alluded to in these pages; and * 
the reader will, therefore, easily imagine the task assumed 
by Caesar, when he undertook to guide the translated ; 
chariot of the English prelate through their windings, into j| 
one of the less frequented passes of the Highlands of the jl 
Hudson. ■ 5 

While Caesar and his steeds were contending with these 
difficulties, the inmates of the carriage were too much en- r 
grossed with their own cares to attend to those who served ii 
them. The mind of Sarah had ceased to wander so wildly 
as at first; but at every advance that she made towards M 
reason, she seemed to retire a step from animation; from | 
being excited and flighty, she was gradually becoming i| 
moody and melancholy. There were moments, indeed, 
when her anxious companiohs thought that they could r 
discern marks of recollection; but the expression of ex- 
quisite wo that accofhpanied these transient gleams of ; 
reason, forced them to the dreadful alternative of wishing 
that she might for ever be spared the agony of thought. ; 
The day’s march was performed chiefly in silence, -and the 
party found shelter for the night in different farm-houses. 

The following morning the cavalcade dispersed. The , 
wounded diverged towards the river, with the intention of 
taking water at Peekskill, in order to be transported to the 
hospitals of the American army above. The litter of Single- 
ton was conveyed to a part of the Highlands where his 


328 


THE SPY 


329 


ather held his quarters, and where it was intended that 
,:he youth should complete his cure; the carriage of Mr. 
A^harton, accompanied by a waggon conveying the house- 
keeper and what baggage had been saved, and could be 
„:ransported, resumed its route towards the place where 
penry Wharton was held in duresse, and where he only 
[vvaited their arrival to be put on trial for his life. 

I The country which lies between the waters of the Hudson 
end Long-Island Sound, is, for the first forty miles from 
jltheir junction, a succession of hills and dales. The land 
f bordering on the latter then becomes less abrupt, and 
gradually assumes^ a milder appearance, until it finally 
'Jmelts into the lovely plains and meadows of the Connec- 
ticut. But as you approach the Hudson, the rugged aspect 
increases, until you at length meet with the formidable 
barrier of the Highlands. Here the Neutral Ground ceased. 
The royal army held the two points of land that com- 
manded the southern entrance of the river into the moun- 
tains; but all the remaining passes were guarded by the 
Americans. 

We have already stated that the pickets of the continental 
I army were sometimes pushed low into the country, and 
that the hamlet of the White Plains was occasionally 
maintained by parties of its troops. At other times, the 
advanced guards were withdrawn to the northern extremity 
of the county, and, as has been shown, the intermediate 
country was abandoned to the ravages of the miscreants 
who plundered between both armies, serving neither. 

The road taken by our party was not the one that com- 
municates between the two principal cities of the state, but 
was a retired and unfrequented pass, that to this hour is 
but little known, and which entering the hills near the 
eastern boundary, emerges into the plain above, many 
miles from the Hudson. 

It would have been impossible for the tired steeds of 
Mr. Wharton to drag the heavy chariot up the lengthened 
and steep ascents which now lay before them; and a pair 
of country horses were procured, with but little regard to 
their owner’s wishes, by the two dragoons who still con- 


330 


THE SPY 


tinued to accompany the party. With their assistance 
Caesar was enabled to advance, by slow and toilsome steps^ 
into the bosom of the hills. Willing to relieve her own 
melancholy by breathing a fresher air, and also to lesser 
the weight, Frances alighted as they reached the foot of the 
mountain. She found that Katy had made similar prepara- 
tions, with the like intention of walking to the summit. 
It was near the setting of the sun, and, from the top of the 
mountain, their guard had declared that the end of their 
journey might be discerned. Prances moved forward with 
the elastic step of youth ; and, followed by the housekeeper 
at a little distance, she soon lost sight of the sluggish 
carriage, that was slowly toiling up the hill, occasionally' 
halting to allow the cattle to breathe. 

“Oh, Miss Fanny, what dreadful times these be!” said ; 
Katy, when they paused for breath themselves; “I know’d 
that calamity was about to befall, ever sin’ the streak of 
blood was seen in the clcluds.” 

“There has been blood upon earth, Katy, though but 
little is ever seen in the clouds.” 

“Not blood in the clouds!” echoed the housekeeper; “yes. 
that there has, often, and comets with fiery, smoking tails. 
Didn’t people see armed men in the heavens, the year the 
war begun? and, the night before' the battle of the Plains, 
wasn’t there thunder, like the cannon themselves? — Ah! 
Miss Fanny, I’m fearful that no good can follow rebellion 
against the Lord’s anointed!” 

“These events are certainly dreadful,” returned Prances, 
“and enough to sicken the stoutest heart. But what can be 
done, Katy? — Gallant and independent men are unwilling 
to submit to oppression; and I am fearful that such scenes 
are but too common in war.” 

“If I could but see any thing to fight about,” said Katy, 
renewing her walk as the young lady proceeded, “I should- 
n’t mind it so much. ’Twas said the king wanted all the 
tea for his own family, at one time; and then again, that 
he meant the colonies should pay over to him all their 
earnings. Now this is matter enough to fight about— for 
I’m sure that no one, however he may be lord or king, has 


THE SPY . 


331 


a right to the hard earnings of another. Then it was all 
contradicted, and some said Washington wanted to be king 
I himself; so that, between the two, one doesn’t know which 
' to believe.” 

“Believe neither — for neither is true. I do not pretend 
to understand, myself, all the merits of this war, Katy; but 
‘ to me its seems unnatural, that a country like this should 
be ruled by another so distant as England.” 

“So I have heard Harvey say to his father, that is dead 
and in his grave,” returned Katy, approaching nearer to 
the young lady, and lowering her voice. “Many is the 
good time that I’ve listened to them talking, when all the 
neighbourhood was asleep; and such conversations, Miss 
Fanny, that you can have no idea on! — Well, to say the 
truth, Harvey was a mystified bodyr and he was like the 
winds in the good book; no one could tell whence he came, 
or whither he went.” 

Frances glanced her eye at her companion with an 
apparent desire to hear more. 

“There are rumours abroad relative to the character of 
Harvey,” she said, “that I should be sorry were true.” 

“ ’Tis a disparagement, every word on’t,” cried Katy, 
vehemently; “Harvey had no more dealings with Beelzebub 
than you or I had. I’m sure if Harvey had sold himself, 
he would take care to be better paid; though, to speak the 
truth, he was always a wasteful and disregardful man.” 

“Nay, nay,” returned the smiling Frances, “I have no 
such injurious suspicion of him; but has he not sold him- 
self to an earthly prince — one too much attached to the 
interests of his native island to be always just to this 
country?” 

“To the king’s majesty!” replied Katy. “Why, Miss 
Fanny, your own brother that is in gaol serves King 
George.” 

“True,” said Frances, “but not in secret — openly, man- 
fully, and bravely.” 

“ ’Tis said he i^ a spy, and why ain’t one spy as bad as 
another?” 

“’Tis untrue; no act of deception is worthy of my 


332 


THE SPY 


brother; nor of any would he be guilty, for so base a 
purpose as gain, or promotion.” 

“Well. I’m sure,” said Katy, a little appalled at the man- 
ner of the young lady, “if a body does the work, he should 
be paid for it. Harvey is by no means partic’lar about 
getting his lawful dues; and I dar’st to say, if the truth 
was forthcoming, King George owes him money this very * 
minute.” 

“Then you acknowledge his connexion with the British i 
army,” said Frances; “I confess there have been moments | 
when I have thought differently.” i 

“Lord, Miss Fanny, Harvey is a man that no calculation i 
can be made on. Though I lived in his house for a long 
concourse of years, I have never known whether he be- 
longed above or below.* The time that Burg’yne was 
taken, he came home, and there was great doings between 
him and the old gentleman, but for the life I couldn’t tell 
if ’twas joy or grief. Then, here, the other day, when the 
great British general — I’m sure I have been so flurried with * 
losses and troubles, that I forget his name — ” 

“Andre,” said Frances. 

“Yes, Ondree; when he was hanged, acrost the Tappaan, 
the old gentleman was near hand to going crazy about it, 
and didn’t sleep for night nor day, till Harvey got back; 
an then his money was mostly golden guineas; but the 
Skinners took it all, and now he is a beggar, or what’s the 
same thing, despisable for poverty and want.” 

To this speech Frances made no reply, but continued her 
walk up the hill, deeply engaged in her own reflections. The 
allusion to Andre had recalled her thoughts to the situa- 
tion of her own brother. 

They soon reached the highest point in their toilsome 
progress to the summit, and Frances seated herself on a 
rock to rest and to admire. Immediately at her feet lay 
a deep dell, but little altered by cultivation, and dark with 
the gloom of a November sunset. Another hill rose oppo- 

* The American party was called the party belonging “above,” 
and the P.ritish that of “below.” The terms had reference to the 
course of the Hudson. 


THE SPY 


333 


site to the place where she sat, at no great distance, along 
iwhose rugged sides nothing was to be seen but shapeless 
rocks, and oaks whose stinted growth showed a meagre soil. 

To be seen in their perfection, the Highlands must be 
passed immediately after the fall of the leaf. The scene is 
then the finest, for neither the scanty foliage which the 
summer lends the trees, nor the snows of winter, are pres- 
ent to conceal the minutest objects from the eye. Chilling 
solitude is the characteristic of the scenery; nor is the 
mind at liberty, as in March, to look forward to a renewed 
vegetation that is soon to check, without improving, the 
view. 

The day had been cloudy and cool, 'and thin fieecy clouds 
hung around the horizon, often promising to disperse, but 
as frequently disappointing Frances in the hope of catching 
a parting beam from the setting sun. At length a solitary 
! gleam struck on the base of the mountain on which she was 
gazing, and moved gracefully up its side, until, reaching 
the summit, it stood for a minute, forming a crown of glory 
j to the sombre nile. So strong were the rays, that what 
* was before indistinct now clearly opened to the view. With 
I a feeling of awe at being thus unexpectedly admitted, as it 
were, into the secrets of that desert place, Frances gazed 
intently, until, among the scattered trees and fantastic 
rocks, something like a rude structure was seen. It was 
low, and so obscured by the colour of its materials, that 
but for its roof, and the glittering of a window, it must 
have escaped her notice. While yet lost in the astonish- 
ment created by discovering a habitation in such a spot, on 
moving her eyes she perceived another object that increased 
her wonder. It apparently was a human figure, but of 
singular mould and unusual deformity. It stood on the 
edge of a rock, a little above the hut, and it was no difficult 
task for our heroine to fancy it was gazing at the vehicles 
that were ascending the side of the mountain beneath her. 
The distance, however, was too great to distinguish with 
precision. After looking at it a moment in breathless 
wonder, Frances had just come to the conclusion that it 
was ideal, and that what she saw was a part of the rock 


334 


THE SPY 


itself, when the object moved swiftly from its position, and i 
glided into the hut, at once removing every doubt as to the^ 
nature of either. Whether it was owing to the recent con- ! 
versation that she had been holding with Katy. or to some : 
fancied resemblance that she discerned, Prances thought, as 
the figure vanished from her view, that it bore a marked 
likeness to Birch, moving under the weight of his pack. ■ 
She continued to gaze towards the mysterious residence, 
when the gleam of light passed away, and at the same 
instant the tones of a bugle rang through the glens and 
hollows, knd were re-echoed in every direction. Springing 
on her feet, the alarmed girl heard the trampling of horses, 
and directly a party in the well-known uniform of the Vir- ; 
ginians came sweeping round the point of a rock near her. 
and drew up at a short distance. Again the bugle sounded 
a lively strain, and before the agitated Frances had time 
to rally her thoughts, Dunwoodie dashed by the party of 
dragoons, threw himself from his charger, and advanced 
to her side. 

His manner was earnest and interested, but in a slight 
degree constrained. In a few words he explained that he 
had been ordered up, with a party of Lawton’s men, in 
the absence of the Captain himself, to attend the trial of 
Henry, which was fixed for the morrow; and that, anxious 
for their safety in the rude passes of the mountain, he had 
ridden a mile or two in quest of the travellers. Frances 
explained, with trembling voice, the reason of her being in 
advance, and taught him momentarily to expect the arrival 
of her father. The constraint of his manner had, however, 
unwillingly on her part, communicated itself to her own 
deportment, and the approach of the chariot was a relief 
to both. The Major handed her in, spoke a few words of 
encouragement to Mr. Wharton and Miss Peyton, and again 
mounting, led the way towards the plains of Fishkill, which 
broke on their sight, on turning the rock, with the effect of 
enchantment. A short half-hour brought them to the door 
of the farm-house, which the care of Dunwoodie had already 
prepared for their reception, and where Captain Wharton 
was anxiously expect:ing their arrival. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


These limbs are strengthened with a soldier’s toil, 

Nor has this cheek been ever blanch’d with fear — 

But this sad tale of thine enervates all 
Within me that I once could boast as man; 

Chill trembling agues seize upon my frame, 

And tears of childish sorrow pour, apace. 

Through scarred channels that were mark’d by wounds. 

Duo. 

The friends of Henry Wharton had placed so much 
reliance on his innocence, that they were unable to see the 
full danger of his situation. As the moment of trial, how- 
ever, approached, the uneasiness of the youth himself 
increased; and after spending most of the night with his 
afflicted family, he awoke, on the following morning, from 
a short and disturbed slumber, to a clearer sense of his 
condition, and a survey of the means that were to extricate 
him from it with life. The rank of Andre, and the impor- 
tance of the measures he was plotting, together with the 
powerful intercessions that had been made in his behalf, 
occasioned his execution to be stamped with greater noto- 
riety than the ordinary events of the war. But spies were 
frequently arrested; and the instances that occurred of 
summary punishment for this crime were numerous. These 
were facts that were well known to both Dunwoodie and 
the prisoner; and to their experienced judgments the 
preparations for the trial were indeed alarming. Notwith- 
standing their apprehensions, they succeeded so far in 
concealing them, that neither Miss Peyton nor Frances was 
aware of their extent. A strong guard was stationed in the 
out-building of the farm-house where the prisoner was 
quartered, and several sentinels watched the avenues that 
approached the dwelling. Another was constantly near the 
room of the British officer. A court was already detailed 


336 


THE SPY 


to examine into the circumstances; and upon their decision, 
the fate of Henry rested. 

The moment at length arrived, and -the different actors 
in the approaching investigation assembled. Frances expe- 
rienced a feeling like suffocation, as, after taking her seat 
in the mid^t of her family, her eyes wandered over the 
group who were thus collected. The judges, three in num- 
ber, sat by themselves, clad in the vestments of their 
profession, and maintained a gravity worthy of the occa- 
sion, and becoming in their rank. In the centre was a 
man of advanced years, and whose whole exterior bore the 
stamp of early and long-tried military habits. This was 
the president of the court; and Frances, after taking a 
hasty and unsatisfactory view of his associates, turned to 
his benevolent countenance as to the harbinger of mercy 
to her brother. There was a melting and subdued expres- 
sion in the features of the veteran, that, contrasted with 
the rigid decency and composure of the others, could not 
fail to attract her notice. His attire was strictly in con- 
formity to the prescribed rules of the service to which he 
belonged; but while his air was erect and military, his 
fingers trifled, with a kind of convulsive and unconscious 
motion, with a bit of crape that entwined the hilt of the 
sword on which his body partly reclined, and which, like 
himself, seemed a relic of older times. There were the 
workings of an unquiet soul within; but his military front 
blended awe with the pity that its exhibition excited. His 
associates were officers selected from the eastern troops, 
who held the fortresses of West Point and the adjacent 
passes; they were men who had attained the meridian of 
life, and the eye sought in vain the expression of any pas-' 
sion or emotion on which it might seize as an indication of 
human inflrmity. In their demeanour, there was a mild, 
but a grave, intellectual reserve. If there was no ferocity 
nor harshness to chill, neither was there compassion nor 
interest to attract. They were men who had long acted 
under the dominion of a prudent reason, and whose feelings 
seemed trained to a perfect submission to their judgments. 

Before these arbiters of his fate Henry Wharton was 


i. 


TilK 


337 


I 


ushered, under the custody of armed men. A profound 
and awful silence succeeded his entrance, and the blood of 
Frances chilled as she noted the grave character of the 
whole proceedings. There was but little of pomp in the 
preparations, to impress her imagination; but the reserved, 
business-like air of the whole scene made it seem, indeed, 
as if the destinies of life awaited the result. Two of the 
judges sat in grave reserve, fixing their enquiring eyes on 
the object of their investigation; but the president con- 
tinued gazing around with uneasy, convulsive motions of 
the muscles of the face, that indicated a restlessness, foreign 
to- his years and duty. It was Colonel Singleton, who, but 
the day before, had learned the fate of Isabella, but who 
stood forth in the discharge of a duty that his country 
required at his hands. The silenee, and the expectation 
in every eye, at length struck him, and making an effort 
to collect himself, he spoke, in the tones of one used to 
authority. 

“Bring forth the prisoner,” he said, with a wave of the 
hand. 

The sentinels dropped the points of their bayonets 
towards the judges, and Henry Wharton advanced, with a 
firm step, into the centre of the apartment. All was now 
anxiety and eager curiosity. Frances turned for a moment 
in grateful emotion, as the deep and perturbed breathing of 
Diinwoodie reached her ears; but her brother again concen- 
trated all her interest in one feeling of intense care. In 
the back-ground were arranged the inmates of the family 
who owned the dwelling, and behind them, again, was a 
row of shining faces of ebony, glistening with pleased 
wonder. Amongst these was the faded lustre of Caesar 
Thompson’s countenance. 

*‘You are said,” continued the president, “to be Henry 
Wharton, a captain in his Britannic majesty’s 60th regi- 
ment of foot.” 

“I am.” 

“I like your candour, sir; it partakes of the honourable 
feelings of a soldier, and cannot fail to impress your judges 
favourably.” 


338 


THE SPY 


“It would 130 prudent,” said one of his companions, “to 
advise the prisoner that he is bound to answer no mgre® 
than he deems necessary: although we are a court of 
martial law, yet, in this respect, we own the principles of 
all free governments.” 

A nod of approbation from the silent member was be- 
stowed on this remark, and the president proceeded with 
caution, referring to the minutes he held in his hand. 

“It is an accusation against you, that, being an officer 
of the enemy, you passed the pickets of the American army ■ 
at the White Plains, in disguise, on the 29th gf October last, 
whereby you are suspected of views hostile to the interests 
of America, and have subjected yourself to the punish- 
ment of a spy.” 

The mild, but steady tones of the speaker, as he slowly 
repeated the substance of this charge, were full of author- j 
ity. The accusation was so plain, the facts so limited, the ^ 
proof so obvious, and the penalty so well established, that 
escape seemed impossible. But Henry replied, with earnest 
grace — 

“That I passed your pickets in disguise, is true; but — ” 

“Peace!” interrupted the president; “the usages of war • 
are stern enough in themselves; you need not aid them to 
your own condemnation.” 

“The prisoner can retract that declaration, if he please,” 
remarked another judge. “His confession, if taken, goes 
fully to prove the charge.” 

“I retract nothing that is true,” said Henry, proudly. 

The two nameless judges heard him in silent composure, 
yet there was no exultation mingled with their gravity. 
The president now appeared, however, to take new interest 
in the scene. 

“Your sentiment is noble, sir,” he said; “I only regret 
that a youthful soldier should so far be misled by loyalty 
as to lend himself to the purposes of deceit.” 

“Deceit!” echoed Wharton; “I thought it prudent to 
guard against capture from my enemies.” 

“A soldier, Captain Wharton, should never meet his 
enemy but openly, and with arms in his hands. 1 have 


THE SPY 


33 ?> 


served two kings of England, as I now serve my native 
land; but never did I approach a foe, unless under the light 
of the sun, and with honest notice that an enemy was nigh.” 

“You are at liberty to explain what your motives were in 
entering the ground held by our army in disguise,” said the 
other judge, with a slight movement of the muscles of his 
mouth, 

“I am the son of this aged man before you,” continued 
Henry. “It was to visit him that I encountered the danger. 
Besides, the country below is seldom held by your troops, 
and its very name implies a right to either party to move 
at pleasure over its territory.” 

“Its name, as a neutral ground, is unauthorised by law; 
it is an appellation that originates with the condition of 
the, country. But wherever an a'!*my goes, it carries its 
rights along, and the first is, the ability to protect itself.” 

“I am no casuist, sir,” returned the youth; “but I feel 
that my father is entitled to my affection, and I would 
encounter greater risks to prove it to him in his old age.” 

“A very commendable spirit,” cried the veteran; “come, 
gentlemen, this business brightens. I confess, at first, it 
was very bad; but no man can censure him for desiring to 
see his parents.” 

“And have you proof that such only was your inten- 
tion?” 

“Yes — here,” said Henry, admitting a ray of hope; “here is 
proof — my father, my sister. Major Dunwoodie, all know it.” 

“Then, indeed,” returned his immovable judge, “we may 
be able to save you. It would be well, sir, to examine 
further into this business.” 

“Certainly,” said the president, with alacrity; “let the 
elder Mr. Wharton approach and take the oath.” 

The father made an effort at composure, and, advancing 
with a feeble step, he complied with the necessary forms of 
the court. 

“You are the father of the prisoner?” said Colonel Single- 
ton, in a subdued voice, after pausing a moment in respect 
for the agitation of the witness. 

“He is my only son.” 


340 


THE SPY 


“And what do you know of liis visit to your house, on 
the 29th day of October last?” 

“He came, as he told you, to see me and his sisters.” 

“Was he in disguise?” asked the other judge. 

“He did not wear the uniform of the 60th.” 

“To see his sisters, too!” said the president with great 
emotion. “Have you daughters, sir?” 

“I have two — both are in this house.” 

“Had he a wig?” interrupted the officer. 

“There was some such thing, I do believe, upon his head.” 

“And how long had you been separated?” asked the 
president. 

“One year and two months.” 

“Did he wear a loose great-coat of coarse materials?” 
inquired the officer, referring to the paper that contained 
the charges. 

“There was an over-coat.” 

“And you think that it was to see you, only, *that he 
came out?” 

“Me, and my daughters.” 

“A boy of spirit,” whispered the president to his silent 
comrade. “I see but little harm in such a freak; 'twas 
imprudent, but then it was kind.” 

“Do you know that your son was intrusted with no com- 
mission from Sir Henry Clinton, and that the visit to you 
was not merely a cloak to other designs?” 

“How can I know it?” said Mr. Wharton, in alarm; 
“would Sir Henry intrust me with such a business?” 

“Know you any thing of this pass?” exhibiting the paper 
that Dunwoodie had retained when Wharton was taken. 

\ “Nothing — upon my honour, nothing,” cried the father, 
shrinking from the paper as from contagion. 

“On your oath?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Have you other testimony — this does not avail you, 
Captain Wharton. You have been taken in a situation 
where your life is forfeited; the labour of proving your 
innocence rests with yourself. Take time to reflect, and 
be cool.” 


THE 8PY 


341 


There was a frightful calmness in the manner of this 
judge that appalled the prisoner. In the sympathy of 
Colonel Singleton, he could easily lose sight of his danger; 
but the obdurate and collected air of the others was omi- 
nous of'his fate. He continued silent, casting imploring 
glances towards his friend. Dunwoodie understood the 
appeal, and offered himself as a witness. He was sworn, 
and desired to relate what he "knew. His statement did 
not materially alter the case, and Dunwoodie felt that it 
could not. To him personally but little was known, and 
that little rather militated against the safety of Henry than 
otherwise. His account was listened to in silence, and the 
significant shake of the head that was made by the silent 
member spoke too plainly what effect it had produced. 

“Still you think that the prisofier had no other object 
than what he has avowed?” said the president, when he 
had ended. 

“None other, I will pledge my life,” cried the major, with 
fervour. 

“Will you swear it?” asked the immovable judge, 

“Howj^an I? God alone can tell the heart; but I have 
known this gentleman from a boy; deceit never formed 
part of his character. He is above it.” 

“You say that he escaped, and was retaken in open 
arms?” said the president. 

“He was; nay, he received a wound in the combat. You 
see he yet moves his arm with difficulty. Would he, think 
you, sir, have trusted himself where he could fall again 
into our hands, unless conscious of innocence?” 

“Would Andre have deserted a field of battle. Major 
Dunwoodie, had he encountered such an event, near Tarry- 
town?” asked his deliberate examiner. “Is it not natural 
to youth to seek glory?” 

“Do you call this glory?” exclaimed the major; “an 
ignominious death, and a tarnished name.” 

“Major Dunwoodie,” returned the other, still with in- 
veterate gravity, “you have acted nobly; your duty has 
been arduous and severe, but it has been faithfully and 
honourably discharged; ours must not be less so.” 


342 


THE SPY 


During the examination, the most intense interest pre- 
vailed among the hearers. With that kind of feeling which 
could not separate the principle from the cause, most of 
the auditors thought that if Dunwoodie failed to move the 
hearts of Henry’s judges, no other possessed the power, 
Caesar thrust his misshapen form forward; and his fea- 
tures, so expressive of the concern he felt, and so different 
from the vacant curiosity pictured in the countenances of 
the other blacks, caught the attention of the silent judge. 
For the first time he spoke — 

“Let that black be brought forward.” 

It was too late to retreat, and Cassar found himself con- 
fronted with a row of rebel officers, before he knew what 
was uppermost in his thoughts. The others yielded the 
examination to the one who suggested it, and using all due 
deliberation, he proceeded accordingly. 

“You know the prisoner?” 

“I tink he ought,” returned the black, in a manner as 
sententious as that of his examiner. 

“Did he give you the wig, when he threw it aside?” 

“I don’t want ’em,” grumbled Caesar; “got a berry good 
hair he’self.” 

“Were you employed in carrying any letters or messages 
while Captain Wharton was in your master’s house?” 

“I do what a tell me,” returned the black. 

“But what did they tell you to do?” 

“Sometime a one ting — sometime anoder.” 

“Enough,” said Colonel Singleton, with dignity; “you 
have the noble acknowledgment of a gentleman, what more 
can you obtain from this slave? Captain Wharton, you per- 
ceive the unfortunate impression against you. Have you 
other testimony to adduce?” 

To Henry there now remained but little hope; his confi- 
dence in his security was fast ebbing, but with an indefinite 
expectation of assistance from the loveliness of his sister, 
he fixed an earnest gaze on the -pallid features of Frances. 
She arose, and with a tottering step moved towards the 
judges; the paleness of her cheek continued but for a 
moment, and gave place to a flush of fire, and with a light. 


THE SPY 


343 


but firm tread, she stood before them. Raising her hand 
to her polished forehead, Frances threw aside her exuberant 
jlocks, and displayed a picture of beauty and innocence to 
their view that might have moved even sterner natures, 
jxhe president shrouded his eyes for a moment, as if the 
:wild eye and speaking countenance recalled the image of 
another. The movement was transient, tnd recovering him- 
self, he said, with an earnestness that betrayed his secret 
wishes — " 

“To you, then, your brother previously communicated his 
intention of paying your family a secret visit?” 

“No — no!” said Frances, pressing her hand on her brain, 
as if to collect her thoughts; “he told me nothing — we knew 
not of the visit until he arrived; but can it be necessary to 
explain to gallant men, that a child would incur hazard 
to meet his only parent, and that in times like these, and 
in a situation like ours?” 

“But was this the first time? Did he never even talk of 
doing so before?” enquired the Colonel, leaning towards her 
with paternal interest. • 

“Certainly — certainly,” cried Frances, catching the ex- 
pression of his own benevolent countenance. “This is but 
the fourth of his visits.” 

“I knew it!” exclaimed the veteran, rubbing his hands 
with delight; “an adventurous, warm-hearted son — I war- 
rant me, gentlemen, a fiery soldier in the field. In what 
disguises did he come?” 

“In none, for none were then necessary; the royal troops 
covered the country, and gave him safe passage.” 

’ “And was this the first of his visits out of the uniform 
of his regiment?” asked the Colonel, in a suppressed voice, 
avoiding the penetrating looks of his companions. 

“Oh! Che very first,” exclaimed the eager girl; “his first 
offence, I do assure you, if offence it be.” 

“But you wrote him — you urged the visit; surely, young 
lady, you wished to see your brother?” added the impatient 
Colonel. 

“That we wished it, and prayed for it,— oh, how fervently 


344 


THE SPY 


we prayed for it! — is true; but to have held communioiW 
with the royal army would have endangered our father, and^ 
we dared'not.” 

“Did he leave the house until taken, or had he intercourse 
with any out of your own dw’elling?” 

“With none — no one, excepting our neighbour, the pedler 
Birch.” 

“With whom?” exclaimed the Colonel, turning pale, and 
shrinking as from the sting of an adder. 

Dunwoodie groaned aloud, and striking his head with his 
hand, cried, in piercing tones, “He is lost!” and rushed 
from the apartment. 

“But Harvey Birch,” repeated Frances, gazing wildly at 
the door through which her lover had disappeared. 

“Harvey Birch!” echoed all the judges. The two immov-j- 
able members of the court exchanged looks, and threw an 
inquisitive glance at their prisoner. 

“To you, gentlemen, it can be no new intelligence to hear [ 
that Harvey Birch is suspected of favouring the royal ’ 
cause,” said Henry, again advancing before the judges;^ ! 
“for he has already been condemned by your tribunals to' | 
the fate that I now see awaits myself. I will therefore 
explain, that it ■'yas by his assistance I procured the dis- 
guise, and passed your pickets; but to my dying moment, i 
and with my dying breath, I will avow, that my intentions | 
were as pure as the innocent being before you.” 

“Captain Wharton,” said the president, solemnly, “the | 
enemies of American liberty have made mighty and subtle ’ 
efforts to overthrow our power. A more dangerous man. ' 
for his means and education, is not ranked among our foes 
than this pedler of West-Chester. He is a spy — artful, de- 
lusive, and penetrating beyond the abilities of any of his 
class. Sir Henry could not do better than to associate him 
with the officer in his next attempt. He would have saved 
Andre. Indeed, young man, this is a connexion that may 
prove fatal to you!” 

The honest indignation that beamed on the countenance 
of the aged warrior, was met by a look of perfect conviction , 
on the part of his comrades. 


THE SPY 


345 


“I have ruined him!” cried Frances, clasping her hands 
in terror; “do you desert us? then he is lost, indeed!” 

“Forbear!— lovely innocent— forbear! ” said the Colonel. 
Avith strong emotion; “you injure none, but distress us all.” 
“Is it then such a crime to possess natural affection?” 
[said Frances, wildly; “would Washington— the noble, up- 

I right, impartial Washington, judge so harshly? delay, till 
Washington can hear his tale.” 

“It is impossible,” said the president, covering his eyes, 
as if to hide her beauty from his view. 

“Impossible! oh! but for a week suspend your judgment. 
On my knees I entreat you, as you will expect mercy your- 
self, when no human power can avail you, give him but a 
day.” 

“It is impossible,” repeated the Colonel, in a voice that 
was nearly choked; “our orders are peremptory, and too 
long delay has been given already.” 

He turned from the kneeling suppliant, but could not, or 
would not, extricate the hands that she grasped with fren- 
zied fervour. 

“Remand your prisoner,” said one of the judges to the 
officer who had the charge of Henry. “Colonel Singleton, 
shall we withdraw?” 

, “Singleton! Singleton!” echoed Frances; “then you are a 
father, and know how to pity a father’s woes: you cannot, 
will not, wound a heart that is now nearly crushed. Hear 
me, Colonel Singleton; as God will listen to your dying 
prayers, hear me, and spare my brother!” 

“Remove her,” said the Colonel, gently endeavouring to 
extricate his hand; but none appeared disposed to obey. 
Frances eagerly strove to read the expression of his averted 
face, and resisted all his efforts to retire. 

“Colonel Singleton! how lately was your own son in 
suffering and in danger! under the roof of my father he 
was cherished — under my father's roof he found shelter 
and protection. Oh! suppose that son the pride of your age, 
the solace and protection of your infant children, and then 
pronounce my brother guilty, if you dare!” 


346 


THE SPY 


“What right has Heath to make an executioner of me!" 
exclaimed the veteran fiercely, rising with a face flushed 
like fire, and every vein and artery swollen with suppressed 
emotion. “But I forget myself; come, gentlemen, let us 
mount; our painful duty must he done.” J 

“Mount not! go not!” shrieked Frances; “can you tear a 
son from his parent? a brotlier from his sister, so coldly?^ 
Is this the cause I have so ardently loved? Are these the! 
men that I have been taught to reverence? But you relent;! 
you do hear me, you will pity and forgive.” 

“Lead on, gentlemen,” said the Colonel, motioning 
towards the door, and erecting himself into an air ofj 
military granijeur, in the vain hope of quieting his feelings.' 

“Lead not on, but hear me,” cried Frances, grasping his^ 
hand convulsively; “Colonel Singleton, you are a father! — ] 
pity— mercy — mercy for the son! mercy for the daughter!] 
Yes — you had' a daughter. On this bosom she poured her^ 
last breath; these hands closed her eyes; these very hands,! 
that are now clasped in prayer, did those offices for herj 
that you condemn my poor, poor brother, to require.” 1 
One mighty emotion the veteran struggled with, andj 
quelled; but with a groan that shook his whole frame. - 
He even looked around in conscious pride at his victory; 
but a second burst of feeling conquered. His head, white 
with the frost of seventy winters, sunk upon the shoulder 
of the frantic suppliant. The sword that had been his 
companion in so many fields of blood dropped from his 
nerveless hand, and as he cried — 

“May God bless you for the deed!” he wept aloud. 

Long and violent was the indulgence that Colonel Single- 
ton yielded to his feelings. On recovering, he gave the 
senseless Frances into the arms of her aunt, and, turning 
with an air of fortitude to his comrades, he said — 

“Still, gentlemen, we have our duty as officers to dis- 
charge; — our feelings as men may be indulged hereafter. 
What is your pleasure with the prisoner?” ' • 

One of the judges placed in his hand a written sentence, 
that he had prepared while the Colonel was engaged with' 


THE SPY 


347 


Frances, and declared it to be the opinion of himself and 
his companion. 

It briefly stated that Henry Wharton had been detected 
in passing the lines of the American army as a spy, and in 
disguise. That thereby, according to the laws of war, he 
[was liable to suffer death, and that this court adjudged 
i him to the penalty; recommending him to be executed by 
I hanging, before nine o’clock on the following morning. 

It was not usual to inflict capital punishments, even on 
the enemy, without referring the case to the commander- 
in-chief, for his approbation; or, in his absence, to the 
officer commanding for the time being. But, as Washington 
held his head-quarters at New-Windsor, on the western bank 
of the Hudson, sufficient time was yet before them to 
receive his answer. 

“This is short notice,” said 'the veteran, holding the pen 
in his hand, in a suspense that had no object; “not a day to 
fit one so young for heaven?” 

“The royal officers gave Hale* but an hour,” returned his 
comrade; “we have granted the usual time. But Washing- 
ton has the power to extend it, or to pardon.” 

“Then to Washington will I go,” cried the Colonel, re- 
turning the paper with his signature; “and if the services 
of an old man like me, or that brave boy of mine, entitle 
me to his ear, I will yet save the youth.” 

So saying, he 'departed, full of his generous intentions in 
favour of Henry Wharton. 

The sentence of the court was communicated, with proper 
tenderness, to the prisoner; and after giving a few necessary 

* An American officer of this name- was detected within the 
British lines, in disguise, in search of military information. Ho 
was tried and executed, as stated in tht text, as soon as the prep- 
arations could be made. It is said that he was reproached under 
the gallows with dishonoring the rank he held by his fate, “What 
a death for an officer to die !” said one of his captors. “Gentlemen, 
any death is honorable when a man dies in a cause like that of 
America,” was the answer. 

Andre was executed amid the tears of his enemies ; Hale died 
unpitied and wdth reproaches in his ears ; and yet one was the 
victim of ambition and the other of devotion to his country. Tos- 
tority will do justice between them. 


348 


THE SPY 



instructions to the officer in command, and despatching a 
courier to head-quarters with their report, the remaining 
judges mounted, and rode to their own quarters, with the^ 
same unmoved exterior, but -with the consciousness of 
the same dispassionate integrity, that they had maintained 
throughout the trial. > 






Have you no countermand for Claudio yet? 
But he must die tomorrow? 


CHAPTER XXVII 


f 

I 


Measure for Measure. 


^ A FEW hours were passed by the prisoner, after his 


sentence was received, in the bosom of his family. Mr. 
Wharton wept in hopeless despondency over the untimely 
fate of his son; and Frances, after recovering from her 
insensibility, experienced an anguish of feeling to which 
the bitterness of death itself would have been comparatively 
light. 'Miss Peyton alone retained a vestige of hope, or 
presence of mind to suggest what migh?’ be proper to be 
done under their circumstances. The comparative compo- 
sure of the good aunt arose in no degree from any want of 
interest in the welfare of her nephew, but it was founded 
in a kind of instinctive dependence on the character of 
Washington. He was a native of the same colony with 
herself; and although his early military services, and her 
fyequent visits to the family of her sister, and subsequent 
€(stablishmeDt at its head, had prevented their ever meet- 
ing, still she was familiar with his domestic virtues, and 
jwell knew that the rigid inflejaibility for which his public 
|cts were distinguished formed no part of his reputation 
in private life. He was known in Virginia as a consistent, 
put just and lenient master; and she felt a kind of pride 
pi associating in her mind her countryman with the man 
ivho led the armies, and in a great measure controlled the 
destinies, of America. She knew that' Henry was innocent 
Of the crime for which he was condemned to suffer, and, 
with that kind of simple faith that is ever to be found in 
t;he most ingenuous characters, could not conceive of those 
constructions and interpretations of law that inflicted 
punishment without the -actual existence of crime. But 
eVen her confiding hopes were doomed to meet with a 


350 


. THE SPY 


speedy termination. Towards noon, a regiment of militia, 
that was quartered on the banks of the river, moved up to 
the ground in front of the house that held our heroine and 
her family, and deliberately pitched their tents, with the 
avowed intention of remaining until the following morning, 
to give solemnity and effect to the execution of a British spy. 

Dunwoodie had performed all that was required of him 
by his orders, and was at liberty to retrace his steps to 
his expecting squadron, which was impatiently waiting his 
return, to be led against a detachment of the enemy, that 
w^as known to be slowly moving up the banks of the river, 
in order to cover a party of foragers in its rear. He was 
accompanied by a small party of Lawton’s troop, under 
the expectation that their testimony might be required to 
convict the prisojier; and Mason, the lieutenant, was in 
command. But the confession of Captain Wharton had 
removed the necessity of examining any witness on behalf 
of the people.* The Major, from an unwillingness to en- 
counter the distress of Henry’s friends, and a dread of 
trusting himself within its influence, had spent the time 
Ave have mentioned in Avalking by himself, in keen anxiety, 
at a' short distance from the dwelling. Like Miss Peytoj, 
he had some reliance on the mercy of Washington, althopgn 
moments of terriflc doubt and despondency were continually 
crossing his mind. To him the rules of service were familiar, 
and he was more accustomed to consider his general in tie 
capacity of a ruler, than as exhibiting the characteristics 
of the individual. A dreadful instance had too recenlly 
occurred, which fully proved that Washington was abo^e 
the weakness of sparing another in mercy to himsef. 
While pacing, with hurried steps, through the orchan,^ 
labouring under these constantly recurring doubts, enlv- 
ened by transient rays of hope. Mason approached, accoutred 
completely for the saddle. 

“Thinking you might have forgotten the news brougit 
this morning from below, sir, I have taken the liberty to 
order the detachment under arms,’’ said the Lieutenat, 

* In America ‘justice is administered in the name of ‘‘the ood 
people,” the sover(>i<;nl y residins; with them. 


V 


THE SPY 


351 


y very coolly, cutting down with his sheathed sabre the 
i mullen tops that grew within his reach. 

“What news?” cried the Major, starting. 

“Only that John Bull is out in West-Chester, with a train 
^ of waggons, which if he fills, will compel us to retire 
through these cursed hills, in search of provender. These 
I greedy Englishmen are so shut up on York Island, that 
1 when they do venture out, they seldom leave straw enough 
to furnish the bed of a Yankee heiress.” 

“Where did the express leave them, did you say? The 
intelligence has entirely escaped my memory.” 

“On the heights above Sing-Sing,” returned the Lieu- 
tenant, with no little amazement. “The road below looks 
like a hay-market, and all the swine are sighing forth their 
lamentations, as the corn passes them towards Kingsbridge. 
George Singleton’s orderly, who brought up the tidings, says 
that our horses were holding consultation if they should 
not go down without their riders, and eat another meal, 
for it is questionable with them whether they can get a full 
stomach again. If they are suffered to get back with their 
plunder, we shall not be able to find a piece of pork at 
I Christmas fat enough to fry itself.” 

, “Peace, with all this nonsense of Singleton’s orderly, Mr. 

Mason,” cried Dunwoodie, impatiently; “let him learn to 
[ wait the orders of his superiors.” 

[ “I beg pardon in his name. Major Dunwoodie,” said the 
subaltern; “but, like myself, he was in error. We both 
I thought it was the order of General Heath, to attack and 
i molest the enemy whenever he 'ventured out of his nest.” 

' “Recollect yourself. Lieutenant Mason,” said the Major, 

' “or I may have to teach you that your orders itass through 
! me.” 

“I know it. Major Dunwoodie — I know it; and I am sorry 
i that your memory is so bad as to forget that I never have 
i yet hesitated to obey them.” 

“Forgive me. Mason,” cried Dunwoodie, taking both his 
hands; “I do know you for a brave and obedient soldier; 
forget my humour. But this business — Had you ever a 
friend?” 


352 


THE SPY 


t 


“Nay, nay,” interrupted the Lieutenant; “forgive me and 
my honest zeal. I knew of the orders, and was fearful ' 
that censure might fall on my officer. But remain, and let 
a man breathe a syllable against the corps, and every sword 
will start from the scabbard of itself; besides, they are still | 
moving up, and it is a long road from Croton to Kings- : 
bridge. Happen what may, I see plainly that we shall be 
on their heels before they are housed again.” 

“Oh! tha^ the courier was returned from head-quarters!” 
exclaimed Dunwoodie. “This suspense is insupportable.” 

“You have your wish,” cried Mason; “here he is at the 
moment, and riding like the bearer of good news. God send 
it may be so; for I can’t say that I particularly like myself 
to see a brave young fellow dancing upon nothing.” 

Dunw'oodie heard but very little of this feeling declara- 
tion; for, ere half of it was uttered, he had leaped the 
fence, and stood before the messenger. 

“What news?” cried the Major, the moment that the i 
soldier stopped his horse. 

“Good!” exclaimed the man; and feeling no hesitation i 
to intrust an officer so well known as Major Dunwoodie, he | 
placed the paper in his hands, as he added, “but you can ( 
read it, sir, for yourself.” j 

Dunwoodie paused not to read; but flew, with the elastic 5 
spring of joy, to the chamber of the prisoner. The sentinel isj 
knew him, and he was suffered to pass without question. Ill 
“Oh! Peyton,” cried Prances, as he entered the apart- ij 
ment, “you look like a messenger from heaven! bring you Jl 
tidings of mercy?” Sjl 

“Here, Frances — here, Henry — here,, dear cousin Jean-M 
ette,” cried the youth, as with trembling hands he broke 
the seal; “here is the letter itself, directed to the captains 
of the guard. But listen — ” * F ' 

■All did listen with intense anxiety; and the pang oftW 
blasted hope was added to their misery, as they saw theg 
glow of delight which had beamed on the countenance ofn| 
the Major give place to a look of horror. The paper con-||i 
tained the sentence of the court, and underneath wasS 
written these simple words — H 


THE SPY 


353 


“Approved— Geo. Washington.” ' , 

“He’s lost, he’s lost!” cried Frances, sinking into the 
arms of her aunt. 

“My son! my son!” sobbed the father, “there is mercy in 
heaven, if there is none on earth. May Washington never 
want that mercy he thus denies to my innocent, child.” 

“Washington!” echoed Dunwoodie, gazing around him in 
vacant horror. “Yes, ’tis the act of Washington himself; 
these are his characters; his very name is here, to sanction 
the dreadful deed.” 

“Cruel, cruel W'ashington!” cried Miss Peyton; “how has 
familiarity with blood changed his nature!” 

“Blame him not,” said Dunwoodie; “it is the general, 
and not the man; my life on it, he feels the blow he is 
compelled to inflict.” 

“I have been deceived in him,” cried Frances. “He is 
not the saviour of his country; but a cold and merciless 
tyrant. Oh! Peyton, Peyton! how have you misled me in 
his character!” 

“Peace, dear Frances; peace for God’s sake; use not such 
language. He is but the guardian of the law.” 

“You speak the truth. Major Dunwoodie,” said Henry, 
recovering from the shock of having his last ray of hope 
extinguished, and advancing from his seat by the side of 
his father. “I, who am to suffer, blame him not. Every 
indulgence has been granted me that I can ask. On the 
verge of the grave, I cannot continue unjust. At such a 
moment, with so recent an instance of danger to your cause 
from treason, I wonder not at Washington’s unbending 
justice. Nothing now remains but to prepare for that fate 
which so speedily awaits me. To you, Major Dunwoodie, I 
make' my first request.” 

“Name it,” said the major, giving utterance with diffi- 
culty. 

Henry turned, and pointing to the group of weeping 
mourners near him, lie continued — 

“Be a son to this aged man; help his weakness, and 
defend him from any usage to which the stigma thrown 
upon me may subject him. He has not many friends 


354 


THE SPY 


amongst the rulers of this country; let your powerful name 
he found among them.” 

“It shall.” 

“And this helpless innocent,” continued Henry, pointing 
to where Sarah sat, unconscious of what was passing — “I 
had hoped for an opportunity to revenge her wrongs;” a 
flush of excitement, passed over his features; “but such 
thoughts are evil — I feel them to he wrong. Under your 
care, Peyton, she will find sympathy and refuge.” 

“She shall,” whispered Dunwoodie. 

“This good aunt has claims upon you already; of her I 
will not speak: l)ut here,” taking the hand of Frances, and 
dwelling upon her countenance with an expression of fra- 
ternal affection — “here is the choicest gift of all. Take her 
to your bosom, and cherish her as you would cultivate 
innocence and virtue.” 

The major could not repress the eagerness with which 
he extended his hand to receive the precious boon; but 
Frances, shrinking from his touch, hid her face in the 
bosom of her aunt. 

“No, no, no!” she murmured; “none can ever be any 
thing to me who aid in my brother’s destruction.” 

Henry continued gazing at her in tender pity for several 
moments, before he again resumed a discourse that all felt 
was most peculiarly his own. 

“I have been mistaken, then. I did think, Peyton, that 
your worth, your noble devotion to a cause that you have 
been taught to revere, that your kindness to our father 
when in imprisonment, your friendship for me,*— in short, 
that your character was understood and valued by my 
sister.” 

“It is — it is,” whispered Frances, burying her face still 
deeper in the bosom of her aunt. 

“I believe, dear Henry,” said Dunwoodie, “this is a sub- 
ject that had better not be dwelt upon now.” 

“You forget,” returned the prisoner, with a faint smile, 
“how much I have to do, and how little time is left to do 
it in.” 


THE SPY 


35S 


“I apprehend,” continued the Major, with a face of fire, 
“that Miss Wharton has imbibed some opinions of me that 
would make a compliance with your request irksome to 
her — opinions that it is now too late to alter.” 

“No, no, no,” cried Frances, quickly; “you are exon- 
erated, Peyton — with her dying breath she removed my 
doubts.” 

“Generous Isabella!” murmured Dunwoodie; “but still, 
Henry, spare your sister now; nay, spare even me.” 

“I speak in pity to myself,” returned the brother, gently 
removing Frances from the arms of her aunt. “What a 
time is this to leave two such lovely females without a 
protector! — Their abode is destroyed, and misery will 
speedily deprive them of their last male friend,” looking 
at his father; “can I die in peace with the knowledge of 
the danger to which they will be exposed?” 

“You forget me,” said Miss Peyton, shrinking at the idea 
of celebrating nuptials at such a moment. 

“No, my dear aunt, I forget you not, nor shall I, until 
I cease to remember; but you forget the times and the 
danger. The good woman who lives in this house has 
already despatched a messenger for a man of God, to 
smooth my passage to another world. — Frances, if you 
would wish me to die in peace, to feel a security that will 
allow me to turn my whole thoughts to heaven, you will let 
this clergyman unite you to Dunwoodie.” 

Frances shook her head, but remained silent. 

“I ask for no joy — no demonstration of a felicity that 
you will not, cannot feel, for months to come; but obtain 
a right to his powerful name — give him an undisputed title 
to protect you — ” 

Again the maid made an impressive gesture of denial. 

“For the sake of that unconscious suiferer — ” pointing to 
Sarah, “for your sake— for my sake— my sister—” 

“Peace, Henry, or you will break my heart,” cried the 
agitated girl; “not for worlds would I at such a moment 
engage in the solemn vows that you wish. It would render 
me miserable for life.” 


356 


THE SPY 


“You love him not,” said Henry, reproachfully. “I cease 
to importune you to do what is against your inclinations.” 

Frances raised one hand to conceal her countenance, 
as she extended the other towards Dunwoodie, and said 
earnestly — 

“Now you are unjust to me — before, you were unjust to 
yourself.” 

“Promise me, then,” said Wharton, musing awhile in 
silence, “that .as soon as the recollection of my fate is 
softened, you will give my, friend that hand for life, and I 
am satisfied.” 

“I do promise,” said Frances, withdrawing the hand that 
Dunwoodie delicately relinquished, without even presuming 
to press it to his lips. 

“Well, then, my good aunt,” continued Henry, “will you 
leave me for a short time alone with my friend? I have a 
few melancholy commissions with which to intrust him, and 
would spare you and my sister the pain of hearing them.” 

“There is yet time to see Washington again,” said Miss 
Peyton, moving towards the door; and then,, speaking with 
extreme dignity, she continued — “I will go myself; surely 
he must listen to a woman from his own colony! — and 
we are in some degree connected with his family.” 

“Why not apply to Mr. Harper?” said Frances, recol- 
lecting the parting words of their guest for the first time. 

“Harper!” echoed Dunwoodie, turning towards her with 
the swiftness of lightning; “what of him? do you know 
him?’' 

“It is in vain,” said Henry, 'drawing him aside;. “Frances 
clings to hope with the fondness of a sister. Retire, my 
love, and leave me with my friend.” 

But Frances read an expression in the eye of Dunwoodie 
that chained her to the spot. After struggling to com- 
mand her feelings, she continued — 

“He stayed with us for two days — he was with us when 
Henry was arrested.” 

“And — and — did you know him?” 

“Nay,” continued Frances, catching her breath as she 
witnessed the intense interest of her lover, “we knew him 


THE SPY 


357 


f 


-not; he came to us in the night, a stranger, and remained 
"with us during the severe storm; but he seemed to take an 
I interest in Henry, and promised him his friendship.” 

“What!” exclaimed the youth, in astonishment; “did he 
know your brother?” 

“Certainly; — it was at his request that Henry threw 
aside his disguise.” 

“But,” said Dunwoodie, turning pale with suspense, “he 
knew him not as an officer of the royal army?” 

“Indeed he did,” cried Miss Peyton; “and he cautioned us 
against this very danger.” 

Dunwoodie caught up the fatal paper, that still lay 
where it had fallen from his own hands, and studied its 
‘ characters intently. Something seemed to bewilder his 
i brain. He passed his hand over his forehead, while each 
[ eye was fixed on him in dreadful suspense — all feeling 
afraid to admit those hopes anew that had once been so 
sadly destroyed. 

“What said he? what promised he?” at length Dunwoodie 
asked, with feverish impatience. 

“He bid Henry apply to him when in danger, and 
promised to requite the son for the hospitality of the 
father.” 

“Said he this, knowing him to be a British officer?” 

“Most certainly; and with a view to this very danger.” 

“Then,” cried the youth aloud, and yielding to his rap- 
ture, “then you are safe — then will I sav^him; yes. Har- 
per will never forget his word.” 

“But has he the power?” said Frances; “can he move 
the stubborn purpose of Washington?” 

“Can he! If he cannot,” shouted the youth, “if he can- 
not, who can? — Greene, and Heath, and young Hamilton, 
are nothing, compared to this Harper. But,” rushing to 
his mistress, and pressing her hands convulsively, “repeat 
to me — you say you have his promise?” 

“Surely, surely, Peyton; — his solemn, deliberate promise, 
knowing all of the circumstances.” 

“Rest easy,” cried Dunwoodie, holding her to his bosom 
for a moment, “rest easy, for Henry is safe.” 


358 


THE SPY 


He waited not to explain, but darting from the room, j 
he left the family in amazement. They continued in silent 
wonder until they heard the feet of his charger, as he ' 
dashed from the door with the speed of an arrow. 

A long time was spent after this abrupt departure of 
the youth, by the anxious friends he had left, in discussing 
the probability of his success. The confidence of his man- 
ner had, however, communitJated to his auditors something 
of his own spirit. Each felt that the prospects of Henry 
were again brightening, and with their reviving hopes 
they experienced a renewal of spirits, which in all but 
Henry himself amounted to pleasure: with him, indeed, 
his state was too awful to admit of trifling, and for a few 
hours he was condemned to feel how much more intolerable 
was suspense than even the certainty of calamity. Not 
so with Frances. She, with all the reliance of affection, 
reposed in security on the assurance of Dunwoodie, with- 
out harassing herself with doubts that she possessed not 
the means of satisfying; but believing her lover able to 
accomplish every thing that man could do, and retaining 
a vivid recollection of the manner and benevolent appear- 
ance of Harper, she abandoned herself to all the felicity of 
renovated hope. 

The joy of Miss Peyton was more sobered, and she took 
frequent occasions to reprove her niece for the exuberance 
of her spirits, ^efore there was a certainty that their ex- 
pectations were to be realized. But the slight smile that 
hovered around the lips of the virgin contradicted the very 
sobriety of feeling that she inculcated. 

“Why, dearest aunt,” said Frances, playfully, in reply 
to one of her frequent reprimands, “would you have me 
repress the pleasure that I feel at Henry’s deliverance, 
when you yourself have so often declared it to be impos- 
sible that such men as ruled in our country could sacrifice 
an innocent man?” 

“Nay, I did believe it impossible, my child, and yet 
think so; but still there is a discretion to be shown in joy 
as well as in sorrow.” 

Frances recollected the declaration of Isabella, and 


THE SPY 


359 


I turned an eye filled with tears of gratitude on her excellent 
f aunt, as she replied — 

i “True: but there are feelings that will not yield to 
f reason. Ah! here are those monsters, who have come to 
j witness the death of a fellow-creature, moving around yon 
jl field, as if life was, to them, nothing but a military show.” 
i “It is but little more to the hireling soldier,” said Henry, 

I endeavouring to forget his uneasiness. 

“You gaze, my love, as if you thought a military show 
of some importance,” said Miss Peyton, observing her niece 
to be looking from the window with a fixed and abstracted 
attention. But Frances answered not. 

From the window where she stood, the pass that they 
had travelled through the Highlands was easily to be seen; 
and the mountain which held on its summit the mysterious 
hut was directly before her. Its side was rugged and 
' barren; huge and apparently impassable barriers of rocks 
jl presenting themselves through the stunted oaks, which, 
j stripped of their foliage, were scattered over its surface. 
I The base of the hill was not half a mile from the house, 
and the object which attracted the notice of Frances, was 
the figure of a man emerging from behind a rock of re- 
markable formation, and as suddenly disappearing^ This 
manoeuvre was several times repeated, as if it were the 
intention of the fugitive (for such by his air he seemed to 
be) to reconnoitre the proceedings of the soldiery, and 
assure himself of the position of things on the plain. Not- 
withstanding the distance, Frances instantly imbibed the 
! opinion that it was Birch. Perhaps this impression was 
partly owing to the air and figure of the man, but in a 
great measure to the idea that presented itself on formerly 
beholding the object at the summit of the mountain. That 
they were the same figure she was confident, although this 
wanted the appearSnce which, in the other, she had taken 
for the pack of the pedler. Harvey had so connected him- 
self with the mysterious deportment of Harper, within her 
! imagination, that, under circumstances of less agitation 
I than those in which she had laboured since her arrival, she 
' would have kept her suspicions to herself. Frances, there- 


360 


THE SPY 


fore, sat ruminating on this second appearance in silence,* 
and endeavouring to trace what possible connection this 
extraordinary man could have with the fortunes of her 
own family. He had certainly saved Sarah, in some de- 
gree, from the blow that had partially alighted on her, and 
in no instance had he provred himself to be hostile to their 
interests. 

After gazing for a long time at the point where she had 
last seen the figure, in the vain expectation of its re-ap- 
pearance, she turned to her friends in the apartment. Miss 
Peyton was sitting by Sarah, who gave some slight addi- 
tional signs of observing what passed, but who still con- 
tinued insensible either to joy or grief. 

‘T suppose, by this time, my love, that you are well 
acquainted with the manoeuvres of a regiment,” said Miss 
Peyton; “it is no bad quality in a soldier’s wife, at all 
events.” 

“I am not a wife yet” said Frances, colouring to the 
ej’^es; “and we have little reason to wish for anothert wed- 
ding in our family.” 

“Frances!” exclaimed her brother, starting from his seat, 
and pacing the floor in violent agitation, “touch not the 
chord again, I entreat you. While my fate is uncertain, 
I would wish to ‘be at peace with all men.” 

“Then let the uncertainty cease,” cried Frances, spring- 
ing to the door, “for here comes Peyton with the joyful 
intelligence of your release.” 

The words were hardly uttered, before the door opened, 
and the Major entered. In his air there was the appearance 
of neither success, nor defeat, but there was a marked dis- 
play of vexation. He took the hand that Frances, in the 
fulness of her heart, extended towards him, but instantly 
relinquishing it, threw himself into a chair, in evident 
fatigue. 

“You have failed,” said Wharton, with a bound of his 
heart, but an appearance of composure. 

“Have you seen Harper?” cried Frances, turning pale. 

“I have not; I crossed the river in one boat as he must 


THE SPY 


361 


have been coming to this side, in another. I returned with- 
out delay, and traced him for several miles into the High- 
lands, by the western pass, but there I unaccountably lost 
him. I have returned here to relieve your uneasiness; but 
see him I will this night, and bring a respite for Henry.” 

‘‘But saw you Washington?” asked Miss Peyton. 

Dunwoodie ga.zed at her a moment in abstracted musing, 
and the question was repeated. He answered gravely, and 
with some reserve- — 

; “The Commander-in-chief had left his quarters.” 

1* “But, Peyton,” cried Prances, in returning terror, “if 
they should not see each other, it will be too late. Harper 
alone will not be sufficient.” 

Her lover turned his eyes slowly on her anxious counte- 
“ nance, and dwelling a moment on her features, said, still 
musing — 

“You say that he promised to assist Henry.” 

“Certainly, of his own accord, and in requital for the 
hospitality he had received.” 

Dunwoodie shook his head, and began to look grave. 

“I like not that word hospitality — it has an empty sound; 
there must be something more reasonable to tie Harper. 
I dread some mistake: repeat to me all that passed.” 

Frances, in a hurried and earnest voice, complied with 
his request. She related particularly the manner of his 
arrival at the Locusts, the reception that he received, and 
the events that passed, as minutely as her memory could 
supply her with the means. As she alluded to the conversa- 
tion that occurred between her father and his guest, the 
Major smiled, but remained silent. She then gave a detail 
of Henry’s arrival, and the events of the following day. 
She dwelt upon the part where Harper had desired her 
brother to throw aside his disguise, and recounted, with 
wonderful accuracy, his remarks upon the hazard of the 
step that the youth had taken. She even remembered a 
remarkable expression of his to her brother, “that he was 
safer from Harper’s knowledge of his person, than he 
would be without it.” Frances mentioned, with the warmth 


362 


THE SPY 


' 1 

( 

! I 

of youthful admiration, the benevolent character of hiri I 
deportment to herself, and gave a minute relation of hid 
adieus to the whole family. j 

Dunwoodie at first listened with grave attention; evidenij 
satisfaction followed as she preceded. When she spoke! 
of herself, in connection with their guest, he smiled withj 
pleasure, and as she concluded, he exclaimed, with delight — 
“We are safe! — we are safe!” 

^ But he was interrupted, as will be seen in the following L 
chapter. f 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


The owlet loves the gloom of night, 

The lark salutes the day, 

The timid dove will coo at hand — 

But falcons soar away. 

Song in Duo. 

I In a country settled, like these states, by a people who 
I fled their native land and much-loved firesides, victims of 
consciences and religious zeal, none of the decencies and 
solemnities of a Christian death are dispensed with, when 
circumstances will admit of their exercise. The good 
[woman of the house was a strict adherent to the forms of 
the church to which she belonged; and having herself been 
awakened to a sense of her depravity, by the ministry of 
the divine who harangued the people of the adjoining 
parish, she thought it was from his exhortations only that 
salvation could be meted out to the short-lived hopes of 
Henry Wharton. Not that the kind-hearted matron was so 
ignorant of the doctrines of the religion which she pro- 
fessed, as to depend, theoretically, on mortal aid for pro- 
tection ; but she ' had, to use her own phrase, “sat so 

long under the preaching of good Mr. ,” that she had 

unconsciously imbibed a practical reliance on his assistance, 
for that which her faith should have taught her could 
come from the Deity alone. With her, the consideration 
of death was at all times awful; and the instant that the 
sentence of the prisoner was promulgated, she despatched 
Caesar, mounted on one of her husband’s best horses, in 
quest of her clerical monitor. This step had been taken 
without consulting either Henry or his friends; and it was 
only when the services of Caesar were required on some 
domestic emergency, that she explained the nature of his 
absence. The youth heard her, at first, with an uncon- 
querable reluctance to admit of such a spiritual guide; but 
as our view of the things of this life becomes less vivid. 



363 


364 


THE SPY 


our prejudices and habits cease to retain their influence; 
and a civil bow of thanks was Anally given, in requital for si 
the considerate care of the well-meaning woman. e 

The black returned early from his expedition, and, as 
well as could be gathered from his somewhat incoherent i 
narrative, a minister of God might be expected to arrive e 
in the course of the day. The interruption that we men- 
tioned in our preceding chapter was occasioned by the 
entrance of the landlady. At the intercession of Dun- 
woodie, orders had been given to the sentinel who guarded 
the door of Henry’s room, that the members of the pris- 
oner’s family should, at all times, have free access to his 
apartment. Cassar was included in this arrangement, as a 
matter of convenience, by the’ officer in command; but strict 
enquiry and examination was made into the errand of every 
other applicant for admission. The Major had, however, 
included himself among the relatives of the British officer; 
and one pledge, that no rescue should be attempted, was 
given in his name, for them all. A short conversation was ^ 
passing between the woman of the house and the corporal 
of the guard, before the door that the sentinel had already 
opened in anticipation of the decision of his pon-commis- 
sioned commandant. 

“Would you refuse the consolations of religion to a 
fellow-creature about to suffer death?” said the matron, 
with earnest zeal. “Would you plunge a soul into the fiery 
furnace, and a minister at hand to point out the strait and 
narrow path?” 

“I’ll tell you what, good woman,” returned the Corporal, 
gently pushing her away; “I’ve no notion of my back being 
a highway for any man to walk to heaven upon. A pretty 
figure I should make at the pickets, for disobeying orders. 
Just step , down and ask Lieutenant Mason, and you may 
bring in the whole congregation. We have not taken the 
guard from the foot-soldiers, but an hour, and I shouldn’t 
like to have it said that we know less of our duty than the 
militia.” 

“Admit the woman,” said Dunwoodie, sternly, observing, 
for the first time, that one of his own corps was on post. 


THE 8PY 


;5Go 

The corporal raised his hand to his cap, and fell back in 
silence; the soldier stood to his arms, and the matron 
entered. 

“Here is a reverend gentleman below, come to soothe 
!the parting soul, in the place of our own divine, who is 
I engaged with an appointment that could not be put aside; 

I tis to bury old Mr. .” 

! “Show him in,” said Henry, with feverish impatience. 

“But will the sentinel let him pass? I would not wish 

a friend of Mr. to be rudely stopped on the threshold, 

land he a* stranger.” 

All eyes v'ere now turned on Dunwoodie, who, looking at 
his watch, spoke a few words with Henry, in an under- 
tone, and hastened from the apartment, followed by 
Frances. The subject of their conversation was a wish 
i expressed by the prisoner for a clergyman of his own per- 
suasion, and a promise from the Major, that one should be 
sent from Fishkill town, through which he was about to 
pass, on his way to the ferry to intercept the expected 
return of Harper. Mason soon made his bow at the door, 
and willingly complied with the wishes of the landlady; 
and the divine was invited to make his appearance accord- 
ingly. 

The person who was ushered into the apartment, pre- 
ceded by Csesar, and followed by the matron, was a man 
beyond the middle age, or who might rather be said to 
approach the downhill of life. In stature he was above the 
size of ordinary men, though his excessive leanness might 
contribute in deceiving as to his height; his countenance 
was sharp and unbending, and every muscle seemed set in 
rigid compression. No joy, or relaxation, appeared ever to 
have dwelt on features that frowned habitually, as if in 
detestation of the vices of mankind. The brows were 
beetling, dark, and forbidding, giving the promise of eyes 
of no less repelling expression; but the organs were com 
cealed beneath a pair of enormous green goggles, through 
which they glared around with a fierceness that denounced 
the coming day of wrath. All was fanaticism, uiichar- 
itableness, and denunciation. Long, lank hair, a mixture 


366 


THE SPY 




of grey and black, fell down his neck, and in some degree^ 
obscured the sides of his face, and, parting on his fore-^ 
head, fell in either direction in straight and formal screens? 
On the top of this ungraceful exhibition was laid, impend-^ 
ing forward, so as to overhang in some measure the whole 
fabric, a large hat of three equal cocks. His coat was of 
a rusty black, and his breeches and stockings were of the 
same colour; his shoes without lustre, and half concealed 
beneath huge plated buckles. 

He stalked into the ^joom, and giving a stiff no^ with his‘ 
head, took the chair offered him by the black, in dignified 
silence. For several minutes no one broke this 'ominous 
pause in the conversation! Henry feeling a repugnance to 
his guest, tliat he was vainly endeavouring to conquer, and 
the stranger himself drawing forth occasional sighs and^ 
groans, that threatened a dissolution of the unequal con-1 
nection between his sublimated soul and its ungainly tene-1 
ment. • During this deathlike preparation, Mr. Wharton,* 
with a feeling nearly allied to that of his son, led Sarah^ 
from the apartment. His retreat was noticed by the divine,' 
in a kind of scornful disdain, who began to hum the air of 
a popular psalm tune, giving it the full richness of the 
twang that distinguishes the Eastern * psalmody. 

“Cspsar,” said Miss Peyton, “hand the gentleman some 
refreshment; he must need it after his ride.” 

“My strength is not in the things of life,” said the divine,' 
speaking in a hollow, sepulchral voice. “Thrice have I 
this day held forth in my master’s service, and fainted not; 
still it is prudent to help this frail tenement of clay, for,^ 
surely, ‘the labourer is worthy of his hire.’ ” 

Opening a pair of enormous jaws, he took a good measure 
of the proffered brandy, and suffered it to glide downwards/ 
with that sort of facility with which man is prone to sin. 

“I apprehend, then, sir, that fatigue will disable you from 
performing the duties, which kindness has induced you to 
attempt.” 


♦ By “Eastern” is meant the states of New England, which, 
being orginally settled by Puritans, still retain many distinct 
shades of character. 


dTHE SPY 


367 


I “Womjin!” exclaimed the stranger, with energy, “when 
[was I ever known to shrink from a duty? But ‘judge not, 
I lest ye be judged,’ and fancy not that it is given to mortal 
I eyes to fathom the intentions of the Deity.” 

I “Nay,” returned the maiden, meekly, and slightly dis- 
; gusted with his jargon, “I pretend not to judge of either 
events, or the intentions of my fellow-creatures, much less 
of those of Omnipotence.” 

I “ ’Tis well, woman — ’tis well,” cried the minister, wav- 
ing his head with supercilious disdain; “humility becometh 
thy sex, and lost Condition; thy weakness driveth thee on 
headlong, like ‘unto the besom of destruction.’ ” 

Surprised at this extraordinary deportment, but yielding 
to that habit which urges us to speak reverently on sacred 
subjects, even when perhaps we had better continue silent, 

I Miss Peyton replied — 

i “There is a power above, that can and will sustain us all 
in well-doing, if we seek its support in humility and truth.” 

I The stranger turned a lowering look at the speaker, and 
ithen composing himself into an air of self-abasement, he 
continued in the same repelling tones — 

“It is not every one that crieth out for mercy, that will 
be heard. The ways of Providence are not to be judged 
by men— ‘Many are called, but few chosen.’ It is easier 
to talk of humility, than to feel it. Are you so humble, 
vile worm, as to wish to glorify God by your own damna- 
tion? If not, away with you for a publican and a pharisee!” 

' Such gross fanaticism was uncommon in America, and 
Miss Peyton began to imbibe the impression that her guest 
was deranged; but remembering that he had been sent by 
I a well-known divine, and one of reputation, she discarded 
I the idea, and, wTth some forbearance, observed — 

“I may deceive myself, in believing that mercy is prof- 
fered to all, but it is so soothing a doctrine, that I would 
not willingly be undeceived.” 

“Mercy is only for the elect,” cried the stranger, within 
unaccountable energy; “and you are in the ‘valley of the 
shadow of death.’ Are you not a follower of idle cere- 
monies, which belong to the vain church, that our tyrants 


368 


THE SPY 


would gladly establish here, along with their stamp-acts 
and tea-laws? Answer me that, woman; and remember, 
that Heaven hears your answer: are you not of that idola- 
trous communion?” 

‘T worship at the altars of my fathers,” said Miss Peyton, 
motioning to Henry for silence; “but bow to no other idol; 
than my own infirmities.” 

“Yes, yes, I know ye, self-righteous and papal as ye are 
— followers of forms, and listeners to bookish preaching; 
think you, woman, that holy Paul had notes in his hand to 
propound the word to the believers?” 

“My presence disturbs you,” said Miss Peyton, rising: 
“I will leave you with my nephew, and offer those prayers 
in private that I did wish to mingle with his.” 

So saying, she withdrew, followed by the landlady, who 
was not a little shocked, and somewhat surprised, by the 
intemperate zeal of her new acquaintance; for, although 
the good woman believed that Miss Peyton and her whole 
church were on the high road to destruction, she was by 
no means accustomed to hear such offensive and open 
avowals of their fate. 

Henry had with difficulty repressed the indignation ex- 
cited by this unprovoked attack on his meek and unre- ^ 
sisting aunt; but as the door closed on her retiring figure, ; 
he gave way to his feelings — i 

“I must confess, sir,” he exclaimed with heat, “that in i 
receiving a minister of God, I thought I was admitting a ' 
Christian; and one who, by feeling his own w'eaknesses, ; 
knew how to pity the frailties of others. You have wounded : 
the meek spirit of an excellent woman, and I acknowledge * 
but little inclination to mingle in prayer with so intolerant 1 
a spirit.” 

The minister stood erect, with grave composure, follow- ; 
ing with his eyes, in a kind of scornful pity, the retiring ! 
females, and suffered the expostulation of the youth to be I 
giVen, as if unworthy of his notice. A third voice, how- ' 
ever, spoke — 

“Such a denunciation would have driven many women 


THE SPY 


3G!) 


fj.nto fits; but it has answered the purpose well enough, as 
, it is.” 

I “Who’s that?” cried the prisoner, in amazement, gazing 
j iround the room in quest of the speaker — 

“It is I, Captain Wharton,” said Harvey Birch, removing 
he spectacles, and exhibiting his piercing eyes, shining 
inder a pair of false eye-brows. 

“Good Heavens — Harvey!” 

i “Silence!” said the pedler, solemnly; “ ’tis a name not 
!o be mentioned, and least of all here, within the heart of 
i .he American army.” Birch paused and gazed around him 
;or a moment, with an emotion exceeding the base passion 
I )f fear, and then continued in a gloomy tone, “There are 
i'l thousand halters in that very name, and little hope would 
I ;here be left me of another escape, should I be again taken. 

■ This is a fearful venture that I am making; but I could not 
[ deep in quiet, and know that an innocent man was about 
iito die the death of a dog, when I might save him.” 

■ “No,” said Henry, with a glow of generous feeling on his 
;3heek; “if the risk to yourself be so heavy, retire as you 
pame, and leave me to my fate. Dunwoodie is making, 
,3ven now, powerful exertions in my behalf; and if he meets 
with Mr. Harper in the course of the night, my liberation 
is certain.” 

“Harper!” echoed the pedler, remaining with his hands 
raised, in the act of replacing the spectacles; “what do you 
know of Harper? and why do you think he will do you 
service?” i 

“I have his promise; — you remember our recent meeting 
in my father’s dwelling, and he then gave an unasked 
promise to assist me.” 

“Yes — but do you know him? that is — why do you think 
he has the power? or what reason have you for believing he 
will remember his word?” 

“If there ever was the stamp of truth, or simple, honest 
benevolence, in the countenance of man, it shone in his,” 
said Henry; “besides, Dunwoodie has powerful friends in 
the rebel army, and it would be better that I take the 


370 


THE SPY 


chance where I am, than thus to expose you tb certaii 
death, if detected.” 

“Captain Wharton,” said Birch, looking guardedlj 
around, and speaking with impressive seriousness of man 
ner, “if I fail you, all fail you. No Harper nor Dunwoodif 
can save your life; unless you get out with me, and thar 
within the hour, you die to-morrow on the gallows of £ 
murderer. Yes, such are their laws; the man who fights 
and kills, and plunders, is honoured; but he who serves his: 
country as a spy, no matter how faithfully, no matter how 
honestly, lives to be reviled, or dies like the vilest crim 
inal!” 

“You forget, Mr. Birch,” said the youth, a little indig- 
nantly, “that I am not a treacherous, lurking spy, who de-, 
ceives to betray; but innocent of the charge imputed to 
me.” 

The blood rushed over the pale, meagre features of the 
pedler, until his face was one glow of fire; but it passed 
quickly away, and he replied — 

“I have told you truth. Caesar met me, as he was going 
on his errand this morning, and with him I have laid the 
plan which, if executed as I wish, will save you — otherwise 
you are lost; and I again tell you, that no other power on 
earth, not even Washington, can save you.” 

“I submit,” said the prisoner, yielding to his earnest 
manner, and goaded by the fears that were thus awakened 
anew. 

The pedler beckoned him to be silent and walking to the 
door, opened it, with the stiff, formal air, with which he 
had entered the apartment. 

“Friend, let no one enter,” he said to the sentinel; “we 
are about to go to prayer, and wish to be alone.” I 

“I don’t know that any will wish to interrupt you,” re- i 
turned the soldier, with a waggish leer of his eye; “but, 
should they be so disposed, I have no power to stop them, 
if they be of the prisoner’s friends; I have my orders, and 
must mind them, whether the Englishman goes to heaven, 
or not.” 

“Audacious sinner!” said the pretended priest, “have you 


THE SPY 


871 


not the fear of God before your eyes? I tell you, as you 
I will dread punishment at the last day, to let none of the 
1 idolatrous communion enter, to mingle in the prayers of 
the righteous.” 

f ”Whew — ew — ew — what a noble comriiander you’d make 

for Sergeant Hollister! you’d preach him dumb in a roll- 
p.call. Hark’ee, I’ll thank you not to make such a noise 
?'when you hold forth, as to drown our bugles, or you may 
^et a poor fellow a short horn at his grog, for not turning 
^but to the evening parade: if you want to be alone, have 
|l|you no knife to stick over the door-latch, that you must 
(’have a troop of horse to guard your meeting-house?” 

i | The pedler took the hint, and closed the door imme- 
diately, using the precaution suggested by the dragoon. 

I “You overact your part,” said young Wharton, in con- 
iistant apprehension of discovery; “your zeal is too intem- 
i perate.” 

“For a foot-soldier and them Eastern militia, it might 
be,” said Harvey, turning a bag upside down, that Caesar 
now handed him; “but these dragoons are fellows that you 
must brag down. A faint heart. Captain Wharton, would 
do but little here;-but come, here is a black shroud for your 
Igood-looking countenance,” taking, at the same time, a 
parchment mask, and fitting it to the face of Henry. “The 
master and the man must change places for a season.” 

“I don’t tink he look a bit like me,” said Caesar, with 
disgust, as he surveyed his young master with his new 
(complexion. 

“Stop a minute, Caesar,” said the pedler, with the lurking 
drollery that at times formed part of his manner, “till we 
get on the wool.” 

“He worse than ebber now,” cried the discontented 
African. “A tink coloured man like a sheep! I nebber see 
jSich a lip, Harvey; he most as big as a sausage!” 

Great pains had been taken in forming the different 
articles used in the disguise of Captain Wharton, and when 
arranged, under the skilful superintendence of the pedler, 
thev formed together a transformation that would easily 
esctipe detection, from any but an extraordinary observer. 


372 


THE SPY 


The mask was stuffed and shaped in such a manner as tc 
preserve the peculiarities, as well as the colour, of tht 
African visage; and the wig was so artfully formed ol 
black and white wool, as to imitate the pepper-and-salt 
colour of Caesar’s own head, and to exact plaudits from tht 
black himself, who thought it an excellent counterfeit in 
every thing but quality. 

“There is but one man in the American army who could 
detect you. Captain Wharton,” said the pedler, surveying 
his work with satisfaction, “and he is just; now out of our 
way.” 

“And who is he?” 

“The man who made you prisoner. He would see youi 
white skin through a plank. But strip, both of you; your 
clothes must be exchanged from head to foot.” 

Caesar, who had received minute instructions from the 
pedler in their morning interview, immediately commenced 
throwing aside his coarse garments, which the youth tookf 
up and prepared to invest himself with; unable, however,*, 
to repress a few signs of loathing. j* 

In the manner of the pedler there was an odd mixture ofy 
care and humour; the former was the result of a perfectj 
knowledge of their danger, and the means necessary to be 
used in avoiding it; and the latter proceeded from the 
unavoidably ludicrous circumstances before him, acting on 
an indifference which sprung from habit, and long famil- 
iarity with such scenes as the present. 

“Here, Captain,” he said, taking up some loose wool, andj 
beginning to stuff the stockings of Caesar, which were,, 
already on the leg of the prisoner; “some judgment isl 
necessary in shaping this limb. You will have to display I 
it on horseback, and the southern dragoons are so used to| 
the brittle-shins, that should they notice your well turned 
calf, they’d know at once it never belonged to a black.” | 

“Golly!” said Caesar, with a chuckle, that exhibited a 
mouth open from ear to ear, “massa Harry breeches fit.”i 

“Any thing but your leg.” said the pedler, coolly pur-j 
suing the toilet of Henry. “Slip on the coat, Captain, over“ 
all. Upon my word, you’d pass well at a pinkster fr.olic; i 


THE SPY 


373 


and here, Caesar, place this powdered wig over your curls, 
and be careful and look out of the window, whenever the 
I door is open, and on.no account speak, or, you will betraj 
all.” 

‘T s’pose Harvey tink a colour’d man an’t got a tongue 
dike Oder folk,” grumbled the black, as he took the station 
assigned to him. 

Every thing now was arranged for action, and the pedler 
I very deliberately went over the whole of his injunctions to 
jthe two actors in the scene. The Captain he conjured to 
■dispense with his erect military carriage, and for a season 
to adopt the humble paces of his father’s negro; and Caesar 
I he enjoined to silence and disguise, so long as he could 
■possibly maintain them. Thus prepared, he opened the 
I door, and called aloud to the sentinel, who had retired to 
jthe farthest end of the passage, in order to avoid receiving 
any of that spiritual comfort, which he felt was the sole 
I property of another. v 

“Let the woman of the house be called,” said Harvey, 
in the solemn key of his assumed character^ “and let her 
come alone. The prisoner is in a happy train of medita- 
tion, and must not be led from his devotions.” 

Caesar sunk his face between his hands; and when the 
soldier looked into the apartment, he thought bhe saw his 
charge in deep abstraction. Casting a glance of huge con- 
tempt at the divine, he called aloud for the good woman of 
the house. She hastened at the summons, with earnest 
zeal, entertaining a secret hope that she was to be ad- 
mitted to the gossip of a death-bed repentance. 

“Sister,” said the minister, in the authoritative tones of 
a master, “have you in the house ‘The Christian Criminal’s 
last Moments, or Thoughts on Eternity, for them who die 
a violent Death’?” 

“I never heard of the book!” said the matron in astonish- 
ment. 

“ ’Tis not unlikely; there are many books you have never 
heard of: it is im.possible for this poor penitent to pass in 
peace, without the consolations of that volume. One hour’s 
reading in it, is worth an age of man’s preaching.” 


374 


THE SPY 


“Bless me. what a treasure to possess! — when was it put 
out?” 

“It was first put out at Geneva in the Greek language, 
and then translated at Boston. It is a book, woman, that 
should be in the hands of every Christian, especially such 
as die upon the gallows. Have a horse prepared instantly 

for this black, who shall accompany me to my Brother . 

and I will send down the volume yet in season. — Brother, 
compose thy mind; you are now in the narrow path to 
glory.” ‘ 

Caesar wriggled a little in his chair, but he had sufficient 
recollection to conceal his face with hands that were, in 
their turn, concealed by gloves. ‘ The landlady departed, to 
comply with this very reasonable request, and the group of 
conspirators were again left to themselves. 

“This is well,” said the pedler; “but the difficult task is 
to deceive the officer who commands the guard — he is 
lieutenant to Lawton, and has learned some of the Cap- 
tain’s own cunning in these things. Remember, Captain 
Wharton,” continued he, with an air of pride, “that now 
is the moment when every thing depends on our coolness.” 

“My fate can be made but little worse than it is at 
present, my worthy fellow,” said Henry; “but for your sake 
I will do ay that in me lies.” 

“And wherein can I be more forlorn and persecuted than 
I now am?” asked the pedler, with that wild incoherence 
vffiich often crossed his manner. “But I have promised 
one to save you, and to him I never have yet broken my 
word.” 

“And who is he?” said Henry, with awakened interest. 

“No one.” 

The man soon returned, and announced that the horses 
were at the door. Harvey gave the Captain a glance, and 
led the way down the stairs, first desiring the woman to 
leave the prisoner to himself, in order that he might digest 
the wholesome mental food that he had so lately received. 

A rumour of the odd character of the priest had spread 
from the sentinel at the door to his comrades; so that when 
Harvey and Wharton reached the open space before the 


THE SPY 


375 


building, they found a dozen idle dragoons loitering about, 
' with the waggish intention of quizzing the fanatic, and 
employed in affected admiration of the steeds. 

“A fine horse!” said the leader in this plan of mischief; 
‘‘but a little low in flesh; I suppose from hard labour in 
your calling.” 

“My calling may be laboursome to both myself and this 
faithful beast, but then a day of settling is at hand, that 
will reward me for all my outgoings and incomings,” said 
Birch, putting his foot in the stirrup, and preparing to 
mount. 

“You work for pay, then, as we fight for’t?” cried another 
of the party. 

“Even so — ‘is not the labourer worthy of his hire?’ ” 

“Come, suppose you give us ^ little preaching; we have 
a leisure moment just now, and there’s no telling how much 
good you might do a set of reprobates like us, in a few 
words; here, mount this horseblock, and take your text 
where you please.” 

The men now gathered in eager delight around the ped- 
ler, who glancing his eye expressively towards the Captain, 
who had been suffered to mount, replied — 

“Doubtless, for such is my duty. But Caesar, you can ride 
up the road and deliver the note — the unhappy prisoner 
will be wanting the book, for his hours are numbered.” 

“Ay — ay, go along, Caesar, and get the book,” shouted 
half a dozen voices, all crowding eagerly around the ideal 
priest, in anticipation of a frolic. 

The pedler inwardly dreaded that, in their unceremon- 
ious handling of himself and garments, his hat and wig 
might be displaced, when detection would be certain; he 
was therefore fain to comply with their request. Ascend- 
ing the horseblock, after hemming once or twice, and cast- 
ing several glances at the Captain, who continued im- 
movable, he commenced as follows: 

“I shall call your attention, my brethren, to that portion 
of Scripture which you will find in the second book of 
Samuel, and which is written in the following words — ■ 
^And the Icing lamented over Abner, and said, Died Abner 


THE SPY 


:^76 

■ ' • '1 

as a fool diethf Thy hands ivere not hound, ^nor thy feet put 
into fetters: as a man falleth before wicked men, so f'eVest 
thou. And all the people wept again over himc -‘ Caesar, ride j 
forward, I say, and obtain the book as directed ; thy master ' 
is groaning in spirit even now for the want of it'” i 

“An excellent text!” cried the dragoons. <^-‘Go on — go ^ 
on— let the snowball stay; he wants to be edified’ as well as f 
another.” 

“What are you at there, scoundrels?” cried Eieiitenant ; 
Mason, as he came in sight from a walk he had taken to 
sneer at the evening parade of the regiment of militia; ; 
“away with every man of you to your quarters, and let me 
find that each horse is cleaned and littered, when I come 
round.” The sound of the officer’s voice operated like a 
charm, and no priest could desire a more silent congrega- 
tion, although he might possibly have wished for one that 
was more numerous. Mason had not done speaking, when i 
it was reduced to the image of Caesar only. The pedler 
took that opportunity to mount, but he had to preserve the 
gravity of his movements^ for the remark of the troopers 
upon the condition of their beasts was but too just, and a i 
dozen dragoon horses stood saddled and bridled at hand, I 
ready to receive their riders, at a moment’s warning. i 

“Well,' have you bitted the poor fellow within,” said 
Mason, “that 'he can take his last ride under the curb of | 
divinity, old gentleman?” ! 

“There is evil in thy conversation, profane man,” cried | 
the priest, raising his hands, and casting his eyes upwards 
in holy horror; “so I will depart from thee unhurt, as i 

Daniel was liberated from the lions’ den.” i 

« ' 

“Off. with you, for a hypocritical, psalrn-singing, canting, 

TOgue in disguise,” said Mason, scornfully; “by the life of 
Washington! it worries an honest fellow tcf see such vora-! 
cious beasts of prey ravaging a country for which he sheds ' 
his blood. If I had you on a Virginia plantation for a, 
quarter of an hour. I’d teach you to worm the tobacco, r 
with the turkeys.” 

“I leave you, and shake the dust off' my shoes, that no 


THE SPY 


377 


remnant of this wicked .hole may tarnish the vestments of 
the godiy.” 

“Start, or I will shake the dust from your jacket, design- 
ing knave! A fellow to’be preaching to my men; There’s 
I Hollister put the devil in them by his exhorting; the ras- 
cals were getting too conscientious to strike a blow that 
\ would rase the skin. But hold! whither do you travel, 
i master blackey, in such godly company?” 
i “He goes,” said the minister, hastily speaking for his 
I companion, “to return with a book of much condolence and 
j virtue to the ^dnful youth above, w^hose soul will speedily 
j become white, even as his outwards are black and un- 
seemly. Would you deprive a dying man of the consolation 
of religion?” 

“No, no, poor fellow, his' fate is bad enough; a famous 
good breakfast his prim body of an aunt gave us. But. 
harkee, Mr. Revelations, if the youth must die secundum 
artem, let it be*" under a gentleman’s directions; and my 
advice is, that you never trust that skeleton of yours 
among us again, or I will take the skin off and leave you 
naked.” 

“Out upon thee for a reviler and scoffer of goodness!” 
said Birch, moving slowly, and with a due observance of 
clerical dignity, down the road, followed by the imaginary 
Caesar; “but I leave thee, and that behind me that will 
prove thy condemnation, and take from thee a hearty and 
joyful deliverance.” 

“Damn him,” muttered the trooper; “the fellow rides 
like a stake, and his legs stick out like the cocks of his 
hat. I wish I had him below these hills* where the law is 
not over-particular, I’d—” 

“Corporal of the guard! — corporal of the guard!” 
shouted the sentinel in the passage to the chamber^, ‘'cor-* 
poral of the guard! — corporal of^.the guard!” . _ 

The subaltern flew up the narrow stairway that led to 
I the room of the prisoner, and demanded the meaning iOf the 
outcry. ■ ■ ' ' "’n'otj-;]-! 

The soldier was standing at the open door of the apart- 


378 


THE SPY 


merit, looking in with a suspicious eye on the supposed 
British officer. On observing his lieutenant, he fell back 
with habitual respect, and replied, with an air of puzzled 
thought — 

“I don’t know, sir; but just now the prisoner looked 
queer. Ever since the preacher has left him, he don’t 
look as he used to do — but,” gazing intently over the 
shoulder of his officer, “it must be him, too! There is the 
same powdered head, and the darn in the coat, where he 
was hit the day we had the last brush with the enemy.” 

“And then all this noise is occasioned by your doubting 
whether that poor gentleman is your prisoner, or not, is it, 
sirrah? Who the devil do you think it can be, else?” 

“I don’t know who else it can be,” returned the tellow% 
sullenly; “but he is grown thicker and shorter, if it is he; 
and see for yourself, sir, he shakes all over, like a man in 
an ague.” 

This was but too true. Caesar was an alarmed auditor 
of this short conversation, and, from congratulating him- 
self upon the dexterous escape of his young master, his 
thoughts were very naturally beginning to dwell upon the 
probable consequences to his own person. The pause that 
succeeded the last remark of the sentinel in no degree con- 
tributed to the restoration of his faculties. Lieutenknt 
Mason was busied in examining with his own eyes the sus- 
pected person of the black, and Caesar was aware of the 
fact, by stealing a look through a passage under one of his 
arms, that he had left expressly for the purpose of recon- 
noitring. Captain Lawton would have discovered the fraud 
immediately, but Mason was by no means so quick-sighted 
as his commander. He therefore turned rather contemp- 
tuously to the soldier, and, speaking in an under-tone, 
observed — 

“That anabaptist, methodistical, quaker, psalm-singing 
rascal has frightened the boy, with his farrago about flames 
and brimstone. I’ll step in and cheer him with a little 
rational conversation.” 

“I have heard of fear making a man white,” said the 


THE SPY 


379 


soldier, drawing back, and staring as if his eyes would 
start from their sockets, “but it has changed tne royal 
captain to a black!” 

The truth was, that Caesar, unable to hear what Masoii^ 
uttered in a low voice, and having every fear aroused in 
him by what had already passed, incautiously removed the 
wig a little from one of his ears, in order to hear the better, 
without in the least remembering that its colour might 
prove fatal to his disguise. The sentinel had kept his eyes 
fastened on his prisoner, and noticed the action. The 
attention of Mason was instantly drawn to the same object; 
and, forgetting all delicacy for a brother officer in distress, 
or, in short, forgetting every thing but the censure that 
might alight on his corps, the Lieutenant sprang forward 
and seized the terrified African by the throat; for no sooner 
had Caesar heard his colour named, than he knew his dis- 
covery was certain; and at the first sound of Mason’s heavy 
boot on the fioor, he arose from his seat, and retreated 
precipitately to a corner of the room. 

“Who are you?” cried Mason, dashing the head of the 
old man against the angle of the wall at each interrogatory, 
“who the devil are you, and where is the Englishman? 
Speak, thou thundercloud! Answer me, you jackdaw, or 
I’ll hang you on the gallows of the spy!” 

Caesar continued firm. Neither the threats nor the blows 
could extract any reply, until the Lieutenant, by a very 
natural transition in the attack, sent his heavy boot for- 
ward in a direction that brought it in direct contact with 
the most sensitive part of the negro — his shin. The most 
obdurate heart could not have exacted further patience, and 
Caesar instantly gave in. The first words he spoke were — 

“Golly! Massa, you tink I got no feelin’?” 

“By Heavens!” shouted the Lieutenant, “it is the negro 
himself! Scoundrel! where is your master, and who was 
the priest?” While speaking, he made a movement, as 
if about to renew the attack; but Caesar cried aloud for 
mercy, promising to tell all that he knew. 

“Who was the priest?” repeated the dragoon, drawing 


380 


TPIE SPY 


back hifi formidable leg, and holding it in threatening sus- 
pense-^ 

“Harvey, Harvey!” cried Caesar, dancing from one leg 
to the other, as he thought each member in turn might be 
assailed. ' ■ 

“Harvey who, you black villain?” cried the impatient 
Lieutenant, as he executed a full measure of vengeance by 
letting his leg fly. 

“Birch!” shrieked Caesar, falling on his knees, the tears 
rolling in large drops over his shining face. 

“Harvey Birch!” echoed the trooper, hurling the black 
from him, and rushing from the room. “To arms! to arms! 
Fifty guineas for the life of the pedler spy— give no quarter 
to either. Mount, mount! to arms! to horse!” 

During the 'uproar occasioned by the assembling of the 
dragoons, who all rushed tumultuously 'to their horses, 
C^sa’r' rose' from the floor, where he had been thrown by 
Mason, and began to examine into his injuries. Happily 
for himself, he had alighted on his head, and consequently 
sustained no material damage. * ' 

! f' ’■ ‘ ^ - 

' -r. . : jrr'-n r, :,, 

' - ^ :v i • - - . ' . 

■ ‘'W ■-■■■. , ■ -/v-y ni /;■ ' 

' ^ ' ■' ;rr' r- 

j. _y: ' ^ , 

. :: - .j.'- , : .. ;• . , 


■‘i 

nJi ;"t 1 


'-vf y f-;!|a7r n-v,:- - 

S'---' C'fiS '7: 

^ . 1-. yn -i y.'iixS ll-ff 


CHAPTER XXIX 


Away went Gilpin, neck or nought, 

Away Avent hat and wig; 

He little dreamt, AA^hen lie set out, 

Of running such a rig. 

' COAVPEK. 

I 

; The road which it was necessary for the pedler and the 
! English captain to travel, in order to reach the shelter of 
the hills, lay, for a half-mile, in full view from the door of 
the building that had so recently been the prison of the 
latter; running for the whole distance over the rich plain, 
that spreads to 'the very foot of the mountains, which here 
rise in a nearly perpendicular ascent from their bases; it 
then turned short to the right, and was obliged to follow 
the windings of nature, as it Avon its way into the bosom 
of the Highlands. 

To preserve the supposed difference in their stations, 
Harvey rode a short distance ahead of his companion, and 
maintained the sober, dignified pace, that was suited to 
his assumed character. On their right, the regiment of 
foot, that we have already mentioned, lay in tents; and 
the sentinels who guarded their encampment were to be 
seen moving with measured tread under the skirts of the 
hills themselves. 

The first impulse of Henry AA^as, certainly to urge the 
beast he rode to his greatest speed at once, and by a coup- 
de-main not only accomplish his escape, but relieve him- 
self from the torturing suspense of his situation. But 
the forward movement that the youth made for this purpose 
Avas instantly checked by the pedler. 

“Hold up!” he cried, dexterously reining his own horse 
across the path of the other; “avouM you ruin us both? 
Fall into the place of a black, folloAving his master. Did 


381 


382 


THE SPY 


you not see their blooded chargers, all saddled and bridled, 
standing in the sun before the house? How long do you 
think that miserable Dutch horse you are on would hold 
his speed, if pursued by the Virginians? Every foot that 
we can gain, without giving the alarm, counts a day in our 
lives. Ride steadily after me, and on no account look back. 
They are as subtle as foxes, ay, and as ravenous for blood 
as wolves!” 

Henry reluctantly restrained his impatience, and fol- 
s lowed the direction of the pedler. His imagination, how- 
ever, continually alarmed him with the fancied sounds of 
pursuit; though Birch, who occasionally looked back under 
the pretence of addressing his companion, assured him 
that all continued quiet and peaceful. 

“But,” said' Henry, “it will not be possible for Caesar to 
remain long undiscovered. Had we not better put our 
horses to the gallop, and by the time they can reflect on the 
cause of our flight, we can reach the corner of the woods?” 

“Ah! you little know them. Captain Wharton,” returned 
the pedler; “there is a sergeant at this moment looking 
after us, as if he thought all was not right; the keen- 
• eyed fellow watches me like a tiger lying in wait for his 
leap. When I stood on the horseblock, he half suspected 
that something was wrong. Nay, check your beast — we 
must let the animals walk a little, for he is laying his hand 
on the pommel of his saddle. If he mounts, we are gone. 
The foot-soldiers could reach us with their muskets.” 

“What does he now?” asked Henry, reining his horse to 
a walk, but at the same time pressing his heels into the 
animal's sides, to be in readiness for a spring. 

“He turns from his charger, and looks the other way; 
now trot on gently — not so fast — not so fast. Observe the 
sentinel in the field, a little ahead of us — he eyes us 
keenly.” 

“Never mind the footman,” said Henry, impatiently; “he 
can do nothing but shoot us — whereas these dragoons may 
make me a captive again. Surely, Harvey, there are horse 
moving down the road behind us. Do you see nothing 
particular?” 


THE SPY 


383 


Humph! ’ ejaculated the pedler; “there is something 
particular indeed, to be seen behind the thicket on our left. 
Turn your head a little, and you may see and profit by it 
too.” 

Henry eagerly seized this permission to look aside, and 
the blood curdled to his heart, as he observed that they 
were passing a gallows, which unquestionably had been 
erected for his own execution. He turned his face from 
the sight, in undisguised horror. 

“There is a warning to be prudent,” said the pedler, in 
the sententious manner that he often adopted. 

“It is a terrific sight, indeed!” cried Henry, for a moment 
veiling his eyes with his hand, as if to drive a vision from 
before him. 

The pedler moved his body partly around, and spoke with 
energetic but gloomy bitterness — “And yet. Captain Whar- 
ton, you see it where the setting sun shines full upon you; 
the air you breathe is clear, and fresh from the hills before 
you. Every step that you take leaves that hated gallows 
behind; and every dark hollow, and every shapeless rock 
in the mountains, offers you a hiding place from the 
vengeance of your enemies. But I have seen the gibbet 
raised, when no place of refuge offered. Twice have I 
been buried in dungeons, where, fettered and in chains, I 
have passed nights in torture, looking forward to the morn- 
ing’s dawn that was to light me to a death of infamy. The 
sweat has started from limbs that seemed already drained 
of their moisture; and if I ventured to the hole that ad- 
mitted air through grates of iron to look out upon the 
smiles of nature, which God has bestowed for the meanest 
of his creatures, the gibbet has glared before my eyes, like 
an evil conscience harrowing the soul of a dying man. 
Four times have I been in their power, besides this last; 
but — twice — did I think my hour had come. It is hard to 
die at the best. Captain Wharton; but to spend your last 
moments alone and unpitied, to know that none near you 
so much as think of the fate that is to you the closing of 
all that is earthly; to think, that in a few hours, you are 
to be led from the gloom, which, as you dwell on what 


384 


THE sPir 


follows,' becomes dear to you, to the face of day, and there 
to meet all eyes fixed upon you, as if you were a wild beast; 
and to lose sight of every thing amidst the jeers and scoffs 
ot your fellow-creatures — that. Captain Wharton, that in- 
deed is to die!” 

Henry listened in amazement, as his companion uttered 
this speech with a vehemence altogether new to him; both 
seemed to have forgotten their danger and their disguises. 

“What! were you ever so near death as that?” 

“Have I not been the hunted beast of these hills for 
three years past?” resumed Harvey; “and once they even 
led me to the foot of the gallows itself, and I escaped only 
by an alarm from the royal troops. Had they been a quar- 
ter of an hour later, I must have died. There was I placed 
in the midst of unfeeling men, and gaping women and 
children, as a monster to be cursed. When I would pray 
to God, my ears were insulted with the history of my 
crimes; and when, in all that multitude, I looked around 
for a single face that showed me any pity, I could find none 
— np, not even one; all cursed me as a wretch who would 
sell his country for gold. The sun was brighter to my 
eyes than common — but it was the last time I should see 
it. The fields were gay and -pleasant, and every thing 
seemed as if this world was a kind of heaven. Oh! how 
sweet life was to me at that moment! ’Twas a dreadful 
hour. Captain Wharton, and such as you have never known. 
You have friends to feel for you, but I had none but a 
father to mourn my loss, when he might hear of it; but 
there was no pity, no consolation near, to soothe my 
anguish. Every thing seemed to have deserted me. I even 
thought that he had forgotten that I lived.” 

“What! did you feel that God himself had forsaken you, 
Harvey?” 

“God never forsakes his servants,” returned Birch, with 
reverence, and exhibiting naturally a devotion that hitherto 
he had only assumed. 

“And who did you mean by he?” 

The pedler raised himself in his saddle to the stiff and 
upright posture that was suited to his outward appearance. 


THE SPY 


385 


The look of fire, that for a short time glowed on his coun- 
tenance, disappeared in the solemn lines of unbending self- 
iabasement, and, speaking as if addressing a negro, he 
replied — 

‘Tn heaven there is no distinction of colour, my brother; 
therefore you have a precious charge within you, that you 
must hereafter render an account of;” dropping his voice 
1 — “this is the last sentinel near the road; look not back, 
as you value your life.” 

Henry remembered his situation, and instantly assumed 
. the humble demeanour of his adopted character. The un- 

I accountable energy of the pedler’s manner was soon for- 
gotten in the sense of his own immediate danger; and with 
I the recollection of his critical situation, returned all the 
1 uneasiness that he had momentarily forgotten. 

“What see you, Harvey?” he cried, observing' the pedler 
to gaze towards the building they had left, with ominous 
interest; “what see you at the house?” 

“That which bodes no good to us,” returned the pre- 
tended priest. “Throw aside the mask and wig; you will 
need all your senses without much delay; throw them in 
the road: there are none before us that I dread, but there 
are those behind who will give us a fearful race!” 

“Nay, then,” cried the Captain, casting the implements 
of his disguise into the highway, “let us improve our time 
to the utmost. Wer want a full quarter to the turn ; why 
not push for it, at once?” 

“Be cool; they are in alarm, but they will not mount 
without an officer, unless they see us fly — now he comes, 
he moves to the stables; trot briskly; a dozen are in their 
saddles, but the officer stops to tighten his girths; they 
hope to steal a march upon us; he is mounted; now ride. 
Captain Wharton, for your life, and keep at my heels. If 
you quit me, yoii will be lost!” 

A second request was unnecessary. The instant that 
Harvey put his horse to his speed. Captain Vv^harton was 
at his heels, urging the miserable animal he rode to the 
utmost. Birch had selected his own beast; and although 
vastly inferior to the hisrh-fed and ])looded chargers of the 


886 


THE SPY 


dragoons, still it was much superior to the little pony that 
had been thought good enough to carry Caesar Thompson 
on an errand. A very few jumps convinced the Captain 
that his companion was fast leaving him, and a fearful 
glance thrown behind, informed the fugitive that his 
enemies were as speedily approaching. With that abandon- . 
ment that makes misery doubly grievous, when it is to be 
supported alone, Henry cried aloud to the pedler not to 
desert him. Harvey instantly drew up, and suffered his 
companion to run alongside of his own horse. The cocked 
hat and wig of the pedler fell from his head the moment 
that his steed began to move briskly, and this development 
of their disguise, as it might be termed, was witnessed by 
the dragoons, who announced their observation by a bois- 
terous shout, that seemed to be uttered in the very ears of ' 
the fugitives; so loud was the cry, and so short the distance 
between them. 

“Had we not better leave our horses?” said Henry, “and 
make for the hills across the fields, on our left? — the fence 
will stop our pursuers.” 

“That way lies the gallows,” returned the pedler; “these 
fellows go three feet to our two, and would mind the fences 
no more than we do these ruts; but it is a short quarter to 
the turn, and there are two roads behind the wood. They' 
may stand to choose until they can take the track, and we 
shall gain a little upon them there.” 

“But this miserable horse is already blown,” cried Henry, 
urging his beast with the end of his bridle, at the same 
time that Harvey aided his efforts by applying the lash of 
a heavy riding-whip he carried; “he will never stand it for 
half a mile farther.” 

“A quarter will do; a quarter will do,” said the pedler; “a 
single quarter will save us, if you follow my directions.” 

Somewhat cheered by the cool and confident manner of 
his companion, Henry continued silently urging his horse 
forward. A few moments brought them to the desired turn, 
and as they doubled round a point of low under-brush, the 
fugitives caught a glimpse of their pursuers scattered along 
the high-way. Mason and the sergeant, being better 


THE SPY 


387 


1 mounted than the rest of the party, were much nearer to 
I their heels than even the pedler thought could be possible. 

' At the foot of the hills, and for some distance up the 
t dark valley that wound among the mountains, a thick 
! under-wood of saplings had been suffered to shoot up, where 
the heavier growth was felled for the sake of the fuel. 
At the sight of this cover, Henry again urged the pedler 
to dismount, and to plunge into the woods; but his request 
was promptly refused. The two roads, before mentioned, 
met at a very sharp angle, at a short distance from the 
turn, and both were circuitous, so that but little of either 
could be seen at a time. The pedler took the one which 
led to the left, but held it only a moment; for, on reaching 
a partial opening in the thicket, he darted across into the 
right-hand path, and led the way up a steep ascent, which 
lay directly before them. This manoeuvre saved them. On 
reaching the fork, the dragoons followed the track, and 
passed the spot where the fugitives had crossed to the other 
road, before they missed the marks of the footsteps. Their 
loud cries were heard by Henry and the pedler, as their 
wearied and breathless animals toiled up the hill, ordering 
their comrades in the rear to ride in the right direction. 
The Captain again proposed to leave their horses and dash 
into the thicket. 

“Not yet, not yet,” said Birch, in a low voice; “the road 
falls from the top of this hill as steep as it rises; first let 
us gain the top.” While speaking, they reached the desired 
summit, and both thrqw themselves from their horses, 
Henry plunging into the thick underwood, which covered 
the side of the mountain for some distance above them. 
Harvey stopped to give each of their beasts a few severe 
blows of his whip, that drove them headlong down the path 
on the other side of the eminence, and then followed his 
example. ^ 

The pedler entered the thicket with a little caution, and 
avoided, as much as possible, rustling or breaking the 
branches in his way. There was but time only to shelter 
his person from view, when a dragoon led up the ascent; 
and on reaching the height, he cried aloud — 


388 


THE SPY 


“I saw one of their horses turning the hill this minute.” 

“Drive on; spur forward, my lads,” shouted Mason; 
“give the Englishman quarter, but cut down the pedler, 
and make an end of him.” 

Henry felt his companion gripe his arm hard, as he 
listened in a great tremor to this cry, which was followed 
by the passage of a dozen horsemen, with a vigour and 
^speed that showed too plainly how little security their i 
over-tired steeds could have afforded them. 

“Now,” said the pedler, rising from the cover to recon- 
noitre, and standing for a moment in suspense, “all that we i 
gain is clear gain; for, as we go up, they go down. Let us 
he stirring.” 

“But will they not follow us, and surround- this moun- 
tain?” said Henry, rising and imitating the laboured but ‘ 
rapid, progress of his companion; “remember, they have 
foot as well as horse, and, at any rate, we shall starve in 
the hills.” 

“Fear nothing. Captain Wharton,” returned the pedler. i 
with confidence; “this is not the mountain that I would be 
on, but necessity has made me a dexterous pilot among 
‘ these hills. I will lead you where no man will dare to 
follow. See, the sun is already setting behind the tops of 
the wesfern mountains, and it will be two hours to the 
rising of the moon. Who, think you, will follow us far, on 
'H November night, among these rocks and precipices?” 

“Listen!” exclaimed Henry; “the dragoons are shouting 
to each other; they miss us already.” 

“Come to the point oLthis rock, and you may see them,” 
said Harvey, . composedly seating himself down to rest. 
“Nay, they can see us — observe, they are pointing up with 
their fingers. There! one has fired his pistol, but the dis- 
tance is too great even for a musket.” 

“They will pursue us,” cried the impatient Henry; “let 
us be moving.” 

“They will not think of such a thing,”, returned the 
pedler, picking the checker-berries that grew on the thin soil 
where he sat, and very deliberately chewing them, leaves 
and all. to refresh his mouth. “What nrogress could they 


THE SPY 


3S9 


make here, in their heavy boots and spurs, and long swords? 

I No, no — they may go back and turn out the foot, but the 
Ahorse pass through these defiles, when they can keep the 
y saddle, with fear and trembling. Come, follow me. Captain 
Wharton; we have a troublesome march before us, but I 
will bring you where none will think of venturing this 
1' night.” 

! So saying, they both arose, and were soon hid from view 
' amongst the rocks and caverns of the mountain. ' 

The conjecture of the pedler was true. Mason and his 
men dashed down the hill, in pursuit, as they supposed, 
of their victims, but on reaching the bottom lands, they 
found only the deserted horses of the fugitives. Some little 
time was spent in examining the woods near them, and in 
endeavouring to take the trail on such ground as might 
enable the horse to pursue, w'hen one of the party descried 
the pedler and Henry seated on the rock already mentioned. 

“He’s off,” muttered Mason, eyeing Harvey, with fury: 
“he’s off, and we are disgraced. By heavens, Washington 
will not trust us with the keeping of a suspected Tory, if 
we let the rascal trifle in this manner with the corps; and 
there sits the Englishman, too, looking down upon us with 
a smile of benevolence! I fancy that I can see it. Well, 
my lad, you are comfortably seated, I will confess, and 
that is something better than dancing upon nothing; but 
you are not to the west of the Harlem River yet, and I’ll 
try your wind before you tell Sir Henry what you have 
seen, or I’m no soldier.” 

“Shall I Are, and frighten the pedler?” asked one of the 
men, drawing his pistol from the holster. 

“Ay, startle the birds from their perch — let us see how 
they can use the wing.” The man fired the pistol, and 
Mason continued — “ ’Fore George, I believe the scoundrels 
laugh at us. But homeward, or we shall have them rolling 
stones upon our heads, and the Royal Gazettes teeming 
with an account of a rebel regiment routed by two loyalists. ^ 
They have told bigger lies than that, before now.” 

The dragoons moved sullenly after their officer, who rode 
towards their quarters, musing on the course it behoved 


390 


THE SPY 


him to pursue in the present dilemma. It was twilight 
when Mason’s party reached the dwelling, before the door 
of which were collected a great number of the officers and 
men, busily employed in giving and listening to the most 
exaggerated accounts of the escape of the spy. The morti- 
fied dragoons gave their ungrateful tidings with the sullen 
air of disappointed men; and most of the officers gathered 
round Mason, to consult of the steps that ought to be taken. 
Miss Peyton and Prances were breathless and unobserved 
listeners to all that passed between them, from the window 
of the chamber immediately above their heads. 

“Something must be done, and that speedily,” observed 
the commanding officer of the regiment, which lay en- 
camped before the house: “this English officer is doubtless 
an instrument in the great blow aimed at us by the enemy 
lately; besides, our honour is involved in his escape.” 

“Let us beat the woods!” cried several at once; “by 
morning we shall have them both again.” 

“Softly, softly, gentlemen,” returned the Colonel; “no 
man can travel these hills after dark, unless used to the 
passes. Nothing but horse can do service in this business, 
and I presume Lieutenant Mason hesitates to move without 
the orders of his major.” 

“I certainly dare not,” replied the subaltern, gravely 
shaking his head, “unless you will take the responsibility 
of an order; but Major Dunwoodie will be back again in 
two hours, and we can carry the tidings through the hills 
before daylight; so that by spreading patrols across, from 
one river to the other, and offering a reward to the country 
people, their escape will yet be impossible, unless they can 
join the party that is said to be out on the Hudson.” 

“A very plausible plan,” cried the Colonel, “and one that 
must succeed; but let a messenger be despatched to Dun- 
woodie, or he may continue at the ferry until it proves too 
late; though doubtless the runaways will lie in the moun- 
tains to-night.” 

To this suggestion Mason acquiesced, and a courier was 
sent to the Major with the important intelligence of the. 
escape of Henry, and an intimation of the necessity of his 


THE SPY 


391 


presence to conduct the pursuit. After this arrangement, 
the officers separated. 

When Miss Peyton and her niece first learnt the escape 
of Captain Wharton, it was with difficulty they could credit 
their senses. They both relied so implicitly on the success 
of Dunwoodie’s exertions, that they thought the act, on the 
part of their relative, extremely imprudent; but it was now 
too late to mend it. While listening to the conversation of 
the officers, both were .struck with the increased danger of 
Henry’s situation, if re-captured, and they trembled to 
think of the great exertions that would be made to accom- 
plish this object. Miss Peyton consoled herself, and en- 
deavoured to cheer Her niece, with the probability that the 
fugitives would pursue their course with unremitting dili- 
gence, so that they might reach the Neutral Ground before 
the horse would carry down the tidings of their flight. The 
absence of Dunwoodie seemed to her all-important, and the 
artless lady was anxiously devising some project that 
might detain her kinsman, and thus give her nephew the 
longest possible time. But very different were the reflec- 
tions of Frances. She could no longer doubt that the 
figure she had seen on the hill was Birch, and she felt 
certain that, instead of flying to the friendly forces below, 
her brother would be taken to the mysterious hut to pass 
the night. 

Frances and her aunt held a long and animated discus- 
sion by themselves, when the good spinster reluctantly 
yielded to the representation of her niece, and, folding 
her in her arms, she kissed her cold cheek, and, fervently 
blessing her, allowed her to depart on an errand of 
fraternal love. 




CHAPTER XXX 


And here, forlorn and lost, I tread, 

With fainting steps, and slow; 

Where wilds, immeasurably spread. 

Seem length ’ning as I go. 

Goldsmith. 

The night had set in dark and chilling, as Frances Whar- 
ton, with a beating heart but light step, moved through the 
little garden that lay behind the farm-house which had 
been her brother’s prison, and took her’ way to the foot of 
the mountain, where she had seen the figure of him she 
supposed to be the pedler. It was still early, but the dark- 
ness and the dreary nature of a November evening would, 
at any other moment, or with less inducement to exertion, 
have driven her back in terror to the circle she had left. 
Without pausing to refiect, however, she fiew over the 
ground with a rapidity that seemed to bid defiance to all 
impediments, nor stopped even to breathe, until she had 
gone half the distance to the rock that she had marked as 
the spot where Birch made his appearance on that very 
morning. 

The good treatment of their women is the surest evidence 
that a people can give of their civilisation; and there is no 
nation which has more to boast of, in this respect, than the 
Americans. Prances felt but little apprehension from the 
orderly and quiet troops who were taking their evening’s 
repast on the side of the highway, opposite to the field 
through which she was fiying. They were her countrymen, 
and she knew that her sex would be respected by the East- 
ern militia, who composed this body; but in the volatile 
and reckless character of the Southern horse she had less 
confidence. Outrages of any description were seldom com- 
mitted by the really American soldiery;* but she recoiled, 
with exquisite delicacy, from even the appearance of humil- 

392 


THE SPY 


393 


iation. When, therefore, she heard the footsteps of a horse 
moving slowly up the road, she shrank, timidly, into a little 
thicket of wood which grew around the spring that bubbled 
from the side- of a hillock near her. The vidette, for such 
it proved'to be, passed her without noticing her form, which 
was so enveloped as to be as little conspicuous as possible, 
humming a low air to himself, and probably thinking of 
some other fair that he had left on the banks of the 
Potomac. 

Frances listened anxiously lo the retreating footsteps of 
his horse, and, as they died upon her ear, she ventured 
from her place of secrecy, and advanced a short distance 
into the field, where, startled at the gloom, and appalled 
with the dreariness of the prospect, she paused to refiect 
on what she had undertaken. Throwing back the hood of 
her cardinal, she sought the support of a tree, and gazed 
towards the summit of the mountain that was to be the 
goal of her enterprise. It rose from the plain like a huge 
pyramid, giving nothing to the eye but its outlines. The 
pinnacle could be faintly discerned in front of a lighter 
back-ground of clouds, between which a few glimmering 
stars occasionally twinkled in momentary brightness, and 
then gradually became obscured by the passing vapour 
that was moving before the wind, at a vast distance below 
the clouds themselves. Should she return, Henry and the 
pedler would most probably pass the night in fancied 
security upon that very hill, towards which she was strain- 
ing her eyes, in the vain hope of observing some light that 
might encourage her to proceed. The deliberate, ^nd what 
to her seemed cold-blooded, project of the officer for the 
recapture of the fugitives, still rang in her ears, and stimu- 
lated her to go on; but the solitude into which she must 
venture, the time, the actual danger of the ascent, and the 
uncertainty of her finding the hut, or what was still more 
disheartening, the chance that it might be occupied by 
unknown tenants, and those of the worst description — 
urged her to retreat. 

The increasing darkness was each moment rendering 
objects less and less distinct, and the clouds were gathering 


394 


THE SPY 


more gloomily in the rear of the hill, until its form could 
no longer be discerned. Frances threw back her rich curls 
with both hands on her temples, in order to possess her 
senses in their utmost keenness; but the towering hill 
was entirely lost to the eye. At length she discovered a 
faint and twinkling blaze in the direction in which she 
thought the building stood, that by its reviving and reced- 
ing lustre, might be taken for the glimmering of a fire. 
But the delusion vanished, as the horizon again cleared, 
and the star of evening shone forth from a cloud, after 
struggling hard, as if for existence. She now saw the 
mountain to the left of the place where the planet was 
shining, and suddenly a streak of mellow light burst upon 
the fantastic oaks that were thinly scattered over its sum- 
mit, and gradually moved dov/n its side, until the whole 
pile became distinct under the rays of the rising moon. 
Although it would have been physically impossible for our 
heroine to advance without the aid of the friendly light, 
which now gleamed on the long line of level land before 
her, yet she was not encouraged to proceed. If she could 
see the goal of her wishes, she could also perceive the 
difficulties that must attend her reaching it. 

While deliberating in distressing incertitude, now shrink- 
ing with the timidity of her sex and years from the enter- 
prise, and now resolving to rescue her brother at every 
hazard, Frances turned her looks towards the east, in 
earnest gaze at the clouds which constantly threatened to 
involve her again in comparative darkness. Had an adder 
stung her, she could not have sprung with greater celerity 
than she recoiled from the object against which she was 
leaning, and which she, for the first time, noticed. The 
two upright posts, with a cross-beam on their tops, and a 
rude platform beneath, told but too plainly the nature of 
the structure; even the cord was suspended from an iron 
staple, and was swinging, to and fro, in the night air. 
Frances hesitated no longer, but rather flew than ran 
across the meadow, and was soon at the base of the rock, 
where she hoped to find something like a path to the sum- 
mit of the mountain. Here she was compelled to pause 


THE SPY 


395 


! for breath, and she improved the leisure by surveying the 
ground about her. The ascent was quite abrupt, but she 
fisoon found a sheep-path that wound among the shelving 
f rocks and through the trees, so as to render her labour 
» much less tiresome than it otherwise would have been, 
r Throwing a fearful glance behind, the determined girl com- 
f menced her journey upwards. Young, active, and impelled 
I by her generous motive, she moved up the hill with elastic 
i steps, and very soon emerged from the cover of the woods, 

' into an open space of more level ground, that had evidently 
' been cleared of its timber, for the purpose of cultivation. 
But either the war, or the sterility of the soil, had compelled 
the adventurer to abandon the advantages that he had 
obtained over the wilderness, and already the bushes and 
briers were springing up afresh, as if the plough had never 
traced its furrows through the mould which nourished 
them. 

Frances felt her spirits invigorated by these faini ves- 

I tiges of the labour of man, and she walkec up the gentle 
acclivity, with renewed hopes of success. The path now 
diverged in so many different directions, that she soon saw 
it would be useless to follow their windings, and abandon- 
ing it, at the first turn, she laboured forward towards what 
she thought was the nearest point of the summit. The 
cleared ground was soon past, and woods and rocks, cling- 
ing to the precipitous sides of the mountain, again opposed 
themselves to her progress. Occasionally, the path was to 
be seen running along the verge of the clearing, and then 
striking off into the scattering patches of grass and herb- 
age, but in no instance could she trace it upward. Tufts of 
wool, hanging to the briers, sufficiently denoted the origin 
of these tracks, and Frances rightly conjectured that who- 
ever descended the mountain, would avail himself of their 
existence, to lighten the labour. Seating herself on a stone, 
the wearied girl again paused' to rest and to reflect: the 
clouds were rising before the moon, and the whole scene at 
her feet lay pictured in the softest colours.* 

The white tents of the militia were stretched in regular 
lines, immediately beneath her. The light was shining in 


39G 


THE SPY • 


the window of her aunt, who, Frances easily fancied, was 
watching the mountain, racked v/ith all the anxiety she 
might be supposed to feel for her niece. Lanterns were 
playing about in the stable-yard, where she knew the horses 
of the dragoons were kept, and believing them to be pre- 
paring for their night march, she again sprang upon her 
feet, and renewed her toil. 

Our heroine had to ascend more than a quarter of a mile 
farther, although she had already conquered two-thirds of 
the height of the mountain. But she was now without a 
path, or any guide to direct her in her course. Fortunately, 
the hill was conical, like most of the mountains in that 
range, and, by advancing upwards, she was certain of at 
length reaching the desired hut, which hung, as it were, on 
the very pinnacle. Nearly an hour did she struggle with 
the numerous difficulties that she was obliged to overcome, 
when, having been repeatedly exhausted w'ith her efforts, 
and, in several instances, in great danger from falls, she 
succeeded in gaining the small piece of table-land on the 
summit. 

Faint with her exertions, which had been unusually 
severe, for so slight a frame, she sank on a rock, to recover 
her strength and fortitude for the approaching interview. 
A few moments sufficed for this purpose, when she pro- 
ceeded in quest of the hut. All of the neighbouring hills 
were distinctly visible by the aid of the moon, and Frances 
was able, where she stood, to trace the route of the high- 
way, from the plains into the mountains. By following this 
line with her eyes, she soon discovered the point whence 
she had seen the mysterious dwelling, and directly opposite 
to that point she well know the hut must stand. 

The chilling air sighed through the leafless branches of 
the gnarled and crooked oaks, as with a step so light as 
hardly to rustle the dry leaves on which she trod, Frances 
moved forward to that part of the hill where she expected 
to And this secluded habitation; but nothing could she dis- 
cern that in the least resembled a dwelling of any sort. In 
vain she examined every recess of the rocks, or inquisitively 
explored every part of the summit that she thought could 


THE SPY 


397 


hold the tenement of the pedler. No hut, nor any vestige of 
a human being, could she trace. The idea of her solitude 
struck on the terrified mind of the affrighted girl, and 
approaching to the edge of a, shelving rock, she bent for- 
ward to gaze on the signs of life in the vale, when a ray of 
keen light dazzled her eyes, and a warm air diffused itself 
over her whole frame. Recovering from her surprise, 
Frances looked on the ledge beneath her, and at once per- 
ceived that she stood directly over the object of her search. 
A hole through its roof afforded a passage to the smoke, 
which as it blew aside, showed her a clear and cheerful 
fire crackling and snapping on a rude hearth of stone; The 
approach to the front of the hut was by a winding path 
around the point of the rock on which, she stood, and by 
this she advanced to its door. 

Three sides of this singular edifice, if such it could be 
called, were composed of logs laid alternately on each 
other, to a little more than the lieight of a man; and the 
fourth was formed by the rock against which it leaned. 
The roof was made of the bark of trees, laid in long strips 
from the rock to its eaves; the fissures between the logs 
had been stuffed with clay, which in many places had fallen 
out, and dried leaves were made use of as a substitute to 
keep out the wind. A single window of four panes of glass 
was in front, but a board carefully closed it„ in such a 
manner as to emit no light, from the fire within. After 
pausing some time to view this singularly constructed 
hiding-place, for such Frances well knew it to be, she 
applied her eye to a crevice to examine the inside. There 
was no lamp or candle, but the blazing fire of dry wood 
made the interior of the hut light enough to read by. In 
one corner lay a bed of straw, with a pair of blankets 
thrown carelessly over it, as if left where they had last 
been used. Against the walls and rocks were suspended, 
from pegs forced into the crevices, various garments, and 
such as were apparently fitted for all ages and conditions, 
and for either sex. British and American uniforms hung 
peaceably by the side of each other; and on the peg that 
supported a gown of striped calico, siich as was the usual 


398 


THE SPY 


country wear, was also depending a well-powdered wig; in 
short, the attire was numerous, and as various as if a whole 
parish were to he equipped from this one wardrobe. 

In the angle against the rock, and opposite to the fire 
which was burning in the other corner, was an open cup- 
board, that held a plate or two, a mug, and the remains 
of some broken meat. Before the fire was a table, with 
one of its legs fractured, and made of rough boards; these, 
with a single stool, composed the furniture, if we except a 
few articles of cooking. A book that, by its size and shape, 
appeared to he a Bible, was lying on the table, unopened. 
But it was the occupant of the hut in whom Frances was 
chiefly interested. This was a man, sitting on the stool, 
with his head leaning on his hand, in such a manner as to 
conceal his features, and deeply occupied in examining 
some open papers. On the table lay a pair of curiously 
and richly mounted horseman’s pistols, and the handle of a 
sheathed rapier, of exquisite workmanship, protruded from 
between the legs of the gentleman, one of whose hands 
carelessly rested on its guard. The tall stature of this 
unexpected tenant of the hut, and his form, much more 
athletic than that of either Harvey or her brother, told 
Frances, without the aid of his dress, that it was neither 
of those she sought. A close surtout was buttoned high in 
the throat of the stranger, and parting at his knees, showed 
breeches of buff, with military boots and spurs. His hair 
was dressed so as to expose the whole face; and, after the 
fashion of that day, it was profusely powdered. A round 
hat was laid on the stones that formed a paved floor to the 
hut, as if to make room for a large map, which, among 
the other papers, occupied the table. 

This was an unexpected event to our adventurer. She 
had been so confident that the figure twice seen was the 
pedler, that on learning his agency in her brother’s escape, 
she did not 'in the least doubt of finding them both in the 
place, which, she now discovered,* was occupied by another 
and a stranger. She stood, earnestly looking through the 
crevice, hesitating whether to retire, or to wait with the 
expectation of yet meeting H^nry, as the stranger moved 


THE SPY 


399 


, his hand from before his eyes, and raised his face, appar- 
ently in deep musing, when Frances instantly recognized 
the benevolent and strongly marked, but composed, features 
^ of Harper. 

1 All that Dunwoodie had said of his power and disposi- 
Jtion; all that he had himself promised her brother, and all 
J the confidence that had been created by his dignified and 
I paternal manner, rushed across the mind of Frances, who 
threw open the door of the hut, and falling at his feet, 
clasped his knees with her arms, as she cried— 

“Save him — save him — save my brother; remember your 
promise, and save him!” 

Harper had risen as the door opened, and there was a 
slight movement of one hand towards his pistols; but it 
was cool, and instantly checked. He raised the hood of 
the cardinal, which had fallen over her features, and 
exclaimed, with some uneasiness — 

“Miss Wharton! But you cannot be alone?” 

“There is none here but my God and you; and by His 
I sacred name, I conjure you to remember your promise, and 
[ save my brother!” 

Harper gently raised her from her knees, and placed her 
i on the stool, begging her at the same time to be composed, 
and to acquaint him with the nature of her errand. This 
Frances instantly did, ingenuously admitting him to a 
knowledge of all her views in visiting that lone spot at 
such an hour, and by herself. 

It was at all times difficult to probe the thoughts of one 
who held his passions in such disciplined subjection as 
Harper, but still there was a lighting of his thoughtful eye, 
and a slight unbending of his muscles, as the hurried and 
anxious girl proceeded in her narrative. His interest, as 
she dwelt upon the manner of Henry’s escape, and the flight 
to the woods, was deep and manifest, and he listened to the 
remainder of her tale with a marked expression of benevo- 
lent indulgence. Her apprehensions, that her brother might 
still be too late through the mountains, seemed to have 
much weight with him, for, as she concluded, he walked a 
turn or two across the hut, in silent musing.^ 


400 


THE SPY 


Frances hesitated, and unconsciously played with the 
handle of one of the pistols, and the paleness that her fears 
had spread over her fine features began to give place to a 
rich tint, as, after a short pause, she added — 

“We can depend much on the friendship of Major Dun-, 
woodie, hut his sense of honour is so pure, that — that— not- 
withstanding his — his — feelings — his desire to serve us — he 
will conceive it to be his duty to apprehend my brother 
again. Besides,' he thinks there will be no danger in so 
doing, as he relies greatly on your interference.” 

“On mine!” said Harper, raising his eyes in surprise. 

“Yes, on yours. When we told him of your kind lan- 
guage, he at once assured us all, that you had the power, 
and if you had promised, would have the inclination, to 
procure Henry’s pardon.” 

“Said he more?” asked Harper, who appeared slightly 
uneasy. 

“Nothing but reiterated assurances of Henry’s safety; 
even now he is in quest of you.” 

“Miss Wharton, that I bear no mean part, in the unhappy 
struggle betwen England and America, it might now be 
useless to deny. You owe your brother’s escape, this night, 
to my knowledge of his innocence, and the remembrance of 
my word. Major Dunwoodie is mistaken, when he says 
that I might openly have procured his pardon. I now, , 
indeed, can control his fate, and I pledge to you a word ■ 
which has some infiuence with Washington, that means - 
shall be taken to prevent his re-capture. But from you, 
also, I exact a promise, that this interview, and all that has ; 
passed between us, remain confined to your own bosom, i 
until you have my permission to speak upon the subject.” ; 

Frances gave the desired assurance, and he continued — ; 

“The pedler and your brother will soon be here, but I 
must not be seen by the royal officer, or the life of Birch . 
might be the forfeiture.” 

“Never!” cried Frances, ardently; “Henry could never be 
so base as to betray the man who saved him.” 

“It is no childish game that we are now playing. Miss : 
Wharton. Men’s lives and fortunes hang upon slender 


THE SPY 


tOl 


' threads, and nothing must be left to accident that can be 
.^guarded against. Did Sir Henry Clinton know that the 
pedler had communion with me, and under such circum- 
stances, the life of the miserable man would be taken 
instantly; therefore, as you value human blood, or remem- 
i 'ber the rescue of your brother, be prudent, and be silent. 
^ Communicate what you know to them both, and urge them 
: to instant departure. If they can reach the last pickets of 
I our army before morning, it shall be my care that there are 
none to intercept them. There is better work for Major 
• Dunwoodie than to be exposing the life of his friend.” 

'■* While Harper was speaking, he carefully rolled up the 
’- map he had been studying, and placed it, together with 
sundry papers that were also open, into his pocket. He 
w’as still occupied in this manner, when the voice of the 
^ pedler, talking in unusually loud tones, was heard directly 
over their heads. 

' “Stand further this way. Captain Wharton, and you can 
see the tents, in the moonshine. But let them mount and 
ride; I have a nest, here, that will hold us both, and we 
will go in'at our leisure.” 

“And where is this nest? I confess that I have eaten but 
little the last two days, arid I crave some of the cheer you 
mention.” 


“Hem!” said the pedler, exerting his voice still more; 
“hem — this fog has given me a cold; but move slow— and 
be careful not to slip, or you may land on the bayonet of 
the sentinel on the flats; ’tis a steep hill to rise, but one 
can go down it with ease.” 

Harper pressed his finger on his lip, to remind Frances of 
her promise, and, taking his pistols and hat, so that no 
vestige of his visit remained, he retired deliberately to a 
far corner of the hut, where, lifting several articles of 


dress, he entered a recess in the rock, and, letting them 
fall again, was hid from view. Frances noticed, by the 
strong firelight, as he entered, that it was a natural cavity, 
and contained nothing but a few more articles of domestic 


use. 

The surprise of Henry and the pedler, on entering and 


I 


402 THE SPY 

finding Frances in possesion of the hut, may be easily 
imagined. Without waiting for explanations or questions, 
the warm-hearted girl flew into the arms of her brother, 
and gave a vent to her emotions in tears. But the pedler 
seemed struck with very different feelings. His first look 
was at the fire, which had been recently supplied with fuel; 
he then drew open a small drawer of the table, and looked 
a little alarmed at finding it empty. 

“Are you alone. Miss Fanny?” he asked, in a quick voice; 
“you did not come here alone?” 

“As you see me, Mr. Birch,” said Frances, raising herself 
from her brother’s arms, and turning an expressive glance 
towards the secret cavern, that the quick eye of the pedler 
instantly understood. 

“But why and wherefore are you here?” exclaimed her 
astonished brother; “and how knew you of this place at 
all?” * 

Frances entered at once into a brief detail of what had 
occurred at the house since their departure, and the 
motives w’hich induced her to seek them. 

“But,” said Birch, “why follow us here, when we were 
left on the opposite hill?” 

Frances related the glimpse that she had caught of the 
hut and pedler, in her passage through the Highlands, as 
well as her view of him on that day, and her immediate 
conjecture that the fugitives would seek the shelter of this 
habitation for the night. Birch examined her features as, 
with open ingenuousness, she related the simple incidents 
that had made her mistress of his secret; and, as she ended, 
he sprang upon his feet, and, striking the window with the 
stick in his hand, demolished it at a blow. 

“ ’Tis but little luxury or comfort that I know,” he said, 
“but even that little cannot be enjoyed in safety! Miss 
Wharton,” he added, advancing before Fanny, and speak- 
ing with the bitter melancholy that was common to him, 
“I am hunted through these hills like a beast of the forest; 
but whenever, tired with ny toils, I can reach this spot, 
poor and dreary as it is, I can spend my solitary nights in 


THE SPY 


403 


safety. Will you aid to make the life of a wretch still 
more miserable?” 

Never! cried Frances, with fervour; “your secret is 
safe with me.” 

“Major Dunwoodie — ” said the pedler, slowly, turning an 
: eye upon her that read her soul. 

Frances lowered her heard upon her bosom, for a mo- 
ment, in shame; then, elevating her fine and glowing face, 
she added, with enthusiasm — 

“Never, never, Harvey, as God may hear my prayers!” 

The pedler seemed satisfied; for he drew back, and, 
watching his opportunity, unseen by Henry, slipped behind 
the screen, and entered the cavern. 

Frances and her brother, who thought his companion 
had passed through the door, continued conversing on the 
latter’s situation for several minutes, when the former 
urged the necessity of expedition on his part, in order to 
precede Dunwoodie, from whose sense of duty they knew 
they had no escape. The Captain took out his pocketbook, 
and wrote a few lines with his. pencil; then folding the 
paper, he handed it to his sister. 

“Frances,” he said, “you have this night proved your- 
self to be an incomparable woman. As you love me, give 
that unopened to Dunwoodie, and remember that two hours 
may save my life.” ' 

“I will — I will; but why delay? Why not fly, and im- 
prove these precious moments?” 

“Your sister says well, Captain Wharton,” exclaimed 
Harvey, who had re-entered unseen; “we must go at once. 
Here is food to eat, as we travel.” 

“But who is to see this fair creature in safety?” cried the 
Captain. “I can never desert my sister in such a place as 
this.” 

“Leave me! leave me!” said Frances; “I can descend as i 
came up. Do not doubt me; you know not my courage nor 
my strength.” 

“I have not known you, dear girl, it is true; but now, as 
I learn your value, can I quit you here? Never, never!” 

“Captain Wharton,” said Birch, throwing open the door; 


404 


THE SPY 


“you can Irifle with your own lives, if you have many to 
spare ; I have but one, and must nurse it. Do I go alone, or 
not?” 

“Go, go, dear Henry,” said Frances, embracing him; “go; 
remember our father; remember Sarah.” She waited not 
for his answer, but gently forced him through the door, 
and closed it with her own hands. 

For a short time there was a warm debate between Henry 
and the pedler; but the latter finally prevailed, and the 
breathless girl heard the successive plunges, as they went 
down the sides of the mountain at a rapid rate. 

Immediately after the noise of their departure had 
ceased. Harper re-appeared. He took the arm of Frances 
in silence, and led her from the hut. The way seemed 
familiar to' him; for, ascending to the ledge above them, 
he led his companion across the table-land tenderly, point- 
ing out the little difficulties in their route, and cautioning 
her against injury. 

Frances felt, as she walked by the side of this extraor- 
dinary man, that she was supported by one of no common 
stamp. The firmness of his step, and the composure of his 
manner, seemed to indicate a mind settled and resolved. 
By taking a route over the back of the hill, they descended 
with great expedition, and but little danger. The distance 
it had taken Frances an hour to conquer, was passed by 
Harper and his companion in ten minutes, and they entered 
the open space already mentioned. He struck into one of 
the sheep-paths, and, crossing the clearing with rapid steps, 
they came suddenly upon a horse, caparisoned for a rider 
of no mean rank. The noble beast snorted and pawed the 
earth, as his master approached and replaced the pistols in 
the holsters. 

Harper then turned, and, taking the hand of Frances, 
spoke as follows: — • ; 

“You have this night saved your brother, Miss Wharton. 
It would not be proper for me to explain why there are 
limits to my ability to serve him; but if you can detain 
the horse for two hours, he is assuredly* safe. After what 
you have already done, I can believe you equal to any duty. 


THE SPY 


405 


God has denied to me children, young lady; but if it had 
been his blessed will that my marriage should not have 
been childless, such a treasure as yourself would I have 
asked from his mercy. But you are my child: all who 
dwell in this broad land are my children, and my care; 
end take the blessing of one who hopes yet to meet you in 
happier days.” 

As he spoke, with a solemnity that touched Frances to 
the heart, he laid his hand impressively upon her head. 
The guileless girl turned her face towards him, and the 
hood ag^in falling back, exposed her lovely features to the 
moonbeams. A tear was glistening on either cheek, and 
her mild blue eyes were gazing upon him in reverence. 
Harper bent and pressed a paternal kiss upon her fore- 
head, and continued — “Any of these sheep-paths will take 
you to the plain; but here we must part — I have much to 
do, and far to ride; forget me in all but your prayers.” 

He then mounted his horse, and lifting his hat, rode 
towards the back of the mountain, descending at the same 
time, and was soon hid by the trees. Frances sprang for- 
ward with a lightened heart, and taking the first path that 
led downwards, in a few minutes she reached the plain 
in safety. While busied in stealing through the meadows 
towards the house, the noise of horse approaching startled 
her, and she felt how much more was to be apprehended 
from man, in some situations, than from solitude. Hiding 
her form in the angle of a fence near the road, she remained 
quiet for a moment, and watched their passage. A small 
party of dragoons, whose dress was different from the Vir- 
ginians, passed at a brisk trot. They were followed by a 
gentleman, enveloped in a large cloak, whom she at once 
knew to be Harper. Behind him rode a black in livery, 
and two youths in uniform brought up the rear. Instead 
of taking the road that led by the encampment, they turned 
short to the left, and entered the hills. 

Wondering who this unknown but powerful friend of her 
brother could be, Frances glided across the fields, and using 
due precautions in approaching the dwelling, regained her 
residence undiscovered and in safety. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


Hence, bashful cunning 
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence; 

I am your wife, if you will marry me. 

^ " Tempest. 

On joining Miss Peyton, Frances learnt that Dunwoodie 
was not yet returned; although, with a view to relieve 
Henry from the importunities of the supposed fanatic, he 
had desired a very respectable divine of their own church 
to ride up from the river and offer his services. This 
gentleman was already arrived, and had been passing the 
half-hour he had been there, in a sensible and well-bred 
conversation with the spinster, that in no degree touched 
upon their domestic affairs. 

To the eager enquiries of Miss Peyton, relative to her 
success in her romantic excursion, Frances could say no 
more than that she was bound to be silent, and to recom-, 
mend the same precaution to the good maiden also. There 
was a smile playing around the beautiful mouth of Frances, 
while she uttered this injunction, which satisfied her aunt 
that all was as it should be. She was urging her niece to, 
take some refreshment after her fatiguing expedition, when j 
the noise of a horseman riding to the door, announced the ' 
return of the Major. He had been found 'by the courier, ! 
who was despatched by Mason, impatiently waiting the i 
return of Harper to the ferry, and immediately flew to the i 
place where his friend had been confined, tormented by aj 
thousand conflicting fears. The heart of Frances boundedjj 
as she listened to his approaching footsteps. It wantedjj 
yet an hour to the termination of the shortest period that! 
the pedler had fixed as the time necessary to effect hisj 
escape. Even Harper, powerful and well-disposed as he] 
acknowledged himself to be, had laid great stress upon the] 


406 


THE SPY 


407 


importance of detaining the Virginians during that hour. 
She, howevet*, had not time to rally her thoughts, before 
Dunwoodie entered one door, as Miss Peyton, with the 
readiness of female instinct, retired through another. 

The countenance of Peyton was flushed, and an air of 
vexation and disappointment pervaded his manner. 

“ ’Twas imprudent, Frances; nay, it was unkind,” he 
cried, throwing himself in a chair, “to fly at the very 
moment that I had assured him of safety! I can almost 
persuade myself that you delight in creating points of 
difference in our feelings and duties.” 

“In our duties there may very possibly be a difference,” 
returned his mistress, approaching, and leaning her slender 
form against the wall; “but not in our feelings, Peyton. 
You must certainly rejoice in the escape of Henry!” 

“There was no danger impending. He had the promise 
of Harper; and it is a word never to be doubted. Oh! 
Frances! Frances! had you known the man you would 
never have distrusted his assurance; nor would you have 
again reduced me to this distressing alternative.” 

“What alternative?” asked Frances, pitying his emotions 
deeply, but eagerly seizing upon every circumstance to 
prolong the interview. 

“What alternative! am I not compelled to spend this 
night in the saddle to recapFure your brother, when I had 
thought to lay my head on its pillow, with the happy con- 
sciousness of having contributed to his release? Y'ou make 
me seem your enemy; I, who would cheerfully shed the last 
drop of blood in your service. I repeat, Frances, it was 
rash; it was unkind; it was a sad, sad mistake.” 

She bent towards him, and timidly took one of his hands, 
while with the other she gently removed the curls from his 
burning brow. 

“Why go at all, dear Peyton?” she asked. “You have 
done much for your country, and she cannot exact such a 
sacrifice as this at your hand.” 

“Frances! Miss Wharton!” exclaimed the youth, spring- 
ing on his feet, and pacing the floor with a cheek that 
burnt through its brown covering, and an eye that sparkled 


408 


THE SPY 


with wounded integrity; “it is not my country, but my 
honour, that requires the sacrifice. Has he not fied from a 
guard of my own corps? But for this, I might have been 
spared the blow! But if the eyes of the Virginians are 
blinded to deception and artifice, their horses are swift of 
foot, and their sabres keen. We shall see, before to- 
morrow’s sun, who will presume to hint that the beauty 
of the sister furnished a mask to conceal the brother! Yes, 
yes; I should like, even now,” he continued, laughing 
bitterly, “to hear the villain who would dare to surmise 
that such treachery existed!” 

“Peyton, dear Peyton,” said Frances, recoiling from his 
angry eye, “you curdle my blood — would you kill my 
brother?” 

“Would I not die for him!” exclaimed Dunwoodie, as he 
turned to her more mildly; “you know I would; but I am 
distracted with the cruel surmise to which this step of 
Henry’s subjects me. What will Washington think of me, 
should he learn that I ever became your husband?” 

* “If that alone impels you to act so harshly towards my 
brother,” returned Frances, with a slight tremor in her 
voice, “let it never happen for him to learn.” 

“And this is consolation, Frances!” 

“Nay, dear Dunwoodie, I meant nothing harsh or unkind; 
but are you not making us both of more consequence with 
Washington than the truth will justify?” 

“I trust that my name is not entirely unknown to the 
Commander-in-chief,” said the Major, a little proudly; “nor 
are you as obscure as your modesty would make you. I 
believe you, Frances, when you say that you pity me, and 
it must be my task to continue worthy of such feelings. 
But I waste the precious moments; we must go through the 
hills to-night, that we may be refreshed in time for the 
duty of to-morrow. Mason is already waiting my orders to 
mount. Frances, I leave you with a heavy heart; pity me, 
but feel no concern for your brother; he must again become 
a prisoner, but every hair of his head is sacred.” 

“Stop! Dunwoodie, I conjure you,” cried Frances, gasping 
for breath, as she noticed that the hand of the clock still 


THE SPY 


409 


wanted many minutes to the desired hour; “before you go 
on your errand of fastidious duty, read this note that Henry 
has left for you, and which, doubtless, he thought he was 
writing to the friend of his youth.” 

“Frances, I excuse your feelings; but the time will come 
when you will do me justice.” 

“That time is now,” she answered, extending her hand, 
unable any longer ^o feign a displeasure that she did not 
feel. 

“Where got you this note?” exclaimed the' youth, glancing 
his eyes over its contents. “Poor Henry, you are indeed my 
friend! If any one wishes me happiness, it is you!” 

“He does, he does,” cried Frances, eagerly; “he wishes 
you every happiness; believe what he tells you; every word 
is true.” 

“I do believe him, lovely girl, and he refers me to you for 
its confirmation. Would that I could trust equally to your 
affections!” 

“You may, Peyton,” said Frances, looking up with inno- 
cent confidence towards her lover. 

“Theil read for yourself, and verify your words,” inter- 
rupted Dunwoodie, holding the note towards her. 

Frances received it in astonishment, and read the 
following: — 

''Life is too precious to he trusted to uncertainties. I 
leave you, Peyton, unknown to all hut Cwsar, and I recom- 
mend Mm to your mercy. But there is a care that loeighs 
me to the earth. Look at my aged and infirm parent. He 
ivill he reproached for the supposed crime of his son. Look 
at those helpless sisters that I leave behind me without a 
protector. Prove to me that you love us all. Let the clergy- 
man whom ypu will bring with you, unite you this night to 
Frances, and become at once, brother, son, and husband." 

The paper fell from the hands of Frances, and she en- 
deavoured to raise her eyfes to the face of Dunwoodie, but 
they sank abashed to the fioor. 

“Am I worthy of this confidence? Will you send me out 
this night to meet my own brother? or will it be the officer 
of Congress in quest of the officer of Britain?” 


410 


THE SPY 


“And would you do less of your duty because I am your 
wife, Major Dunwoodie? in what degree would it better the 
condition of Henry?” 

“Henry, I repeat, is safe. The word of Harper is his 
guarantee; but I will show the world a bridegroom,” con- 
tinued the youth, perhaps deceiving himself a little, “who is 
equal to the duty of arresting the brother of his bride.” 

“And will the world comprehend this refinement?” said 
Frances, with a musing air, that lighted a thousand hopes 
in the bosom of her lover. In' fact, the temptation was 
mighty. Indeed, there seemed no other way to detain Dun- 
woodie until the fatal hour had elapsed. The words of 
Harper himself, who had so lately told her that openly 
he could do but little for Henry,, and that every thing 
depended upon gaining time, were deeply engraved upon 
her memory. Perhaps there was also a fieeting thought 
of the possibility of an eternal separation from her lover, 
should he proceed and bring back her brother to punish- 
ment. It is difficult at all times to analyse human emotions, 
and they pass through the sensitive heart of a woman with 
the rapidity and nearly with the vividness of lightning. 

“Why do you hesitate, dear Frances?” cried Dunwoodie, 
who was studying her varying countenance; “a few minutes 
might give me a husband’s claim to protect you.” 

Frances grew giddy. She turned an anxious eye to the 
clock, and the hand seemed to linger over its face, as if 
^!th intent to torture her, 

“Speak, Frances,” murmured Dunwoodie; “may I sum- 
mon my good kinswoman? determine, for time presses.” 

She endeavoured to reply, but could only whisper some- 
thing that was inaudible, but which her lover, with the 
privilege of immemorial custom, construed into assent. He 
turned and flew to the door, when his mistress recovered 
her voice — 

- “Stop, Peyton! I cannot enter into such a solemn engage- 
men with a fraud upon my conscience. I have seen Henry 
since his escape, and time is all-important to him. Here is 
my hand; if, with this knowledge of the consequences of 
delay, you will not reject it, it is freely yours.” 


THE SPY 


411 


“Reject it!” cried the delighted youth; “I take it as the 
richest gift of Heaven. There is time enough for us all. 
Two hours will take me through the hills; and by noon, 
to-morrow, I will return with Washington’s pardon for 
your brother, and Henry will help to enliven our nuptials.” 

“Then meet me here, in ten minutes,” said Frances, 
greatly relieved by unburthening her mind, and filled 
with the hope of securing Henry’s safety, “and I will return 
and take those vows, which will bind me to you for ever.” 

Dunwoodie paused only to press her once to his bosom, 
and flew to communicate his wishes to the priest. 

Miss Peyton received the avowal of her niece with in- 
finite astonishment, and a little displeasure. It was violat- 
ing all the order and decorum of a wedding to get it up so 
hastily, and with so little ceremony. But Frances, with 
modest firmness, declared that her resolution was taken; 
she had long possessed the consent of her friends, and their ^ 
nuptials, for months, had only waited her pleasure. She had 
now promised Dunwoodie, and it was her wish to comply; 
more she dare not say without committing herself, by 
entering into explanations that might endanger Birch, or 
Harper, or both. Unused to contention, and really much 
attached to her kinsman, the feeble objections of Miss 
Peyton gave way to the firmness of her niece. Mr. Wharton 
I was too completely, a convert to the doctrine of passive 
obedience and non-resistance, to withstand any solicitation 
from an officer of Dunwoodie’s influence in the rebel armies; 
and the maid returned to the apartment, accompanied by 
her father and aunt, at the expiration of the time that she 
had fixed. Dunwoodie and the clergyman were already 
there. Frances, silently, and without the affectation of 
reserve, placed in his hand the wedding-ring of her own 
mother, and after some little time spent in arranging Mr. 
Wharton and herself. Miss Peyton suffered the ceremony to 
proceed. 

The clock stood directly before the eyes of Frances, and 
she turned many an anxious glance at the dial; but the 
solemn language of the priest soon caught her attention, 
and her mind became intent upon the vows she was utter- 


412 ’ THE SPY * 

ing. The ceremony* was quickly over, and as the clergyman 
closed the words of benediction, the clock told the hour of' 
nine. This was the time that Harper had deemed so impor- | 
tant, and Frances felt as if a mighty load was at once 
remioved from her heart. 

Dunwoodie folded her in his arms, saluted the mild aunt 
again and again, and shook Mr. Wharton and the divine 
repeatedly by the hands. In the midst of the felicitation, a 
tap was heard at the door. It was opened, and Mason 
appeared. 

“We are in the saddle,” said the Lieutenant, “and, with 
your permission, I will lead on; as you are so well mounted, 
you can overtake us at your leisure.” 

“Yes, yes, my good fellow; march,” cried Dunwoodie, ; 
gladly seizing an excuse to linger; “I will reach you at the i 
first halt.” ‘ 

The subaltern retired to execute these orders; he was 1 
followed by Mr. Wharton and the divine. 

“Now, Peyton,” said Frances, “it is indeed a brother that - 
you seek; I am sure I need not caution you in his behalf, ' 
should you unfortunately find him.” 

“Say fortunately,” cried the youth; “for I am determined 
he shall yet dance at my wedding. Would that I could win 
him to our cause! it is the cause of his country; and I 
could fight with more pleasure, Frances, with your brother 
by my side.” 

“Oh! mention it not! you awaken terrible reflections.” 

“I will not mention it,” returned her husband; “but I 
must now leave you. ^ But the sooner I go, Frances, the 
sooner I shall return.” 

The noise of a horseman was heard approaching the 
house, and Dunwoodie was yet taking leave of his bride i 
and her aunt, when an officer was shown into the room by , 
his own man. 

The gentleman wore the dress of an aid-de-camp, and the 
Major at once knew him to be one of the military family of 
Washington. j 

“Major Dunwoodie,” he said, after bowing to the ladies. 


THE SPY 413 

“the Commander-in-chief has directed me to give you these 
orders.” 

He executed his mission, and, pleading duty, took his 
leave immediately. 

Here, indeed!” cried the Major, “is an unexpected turn 
in the whole affair; but I ‘understand it; Harper has got 
my letter, and already we feel his influence.” 

“Have you news affecting Henry?” cried Frances, spring- 
ing to his side. 

“Listen, and you shall judge.” 

“Sir Upon the receipt of this, you will concentrate your 
squadron, so as to he in front of a covering party which the 
enemy has sent up in front of his foragers, hy ten o'clock 
to-morrow, on the heights of Groton, where you will find a 
body of foot to support you. The escape of the English spy 
has been reported to me, but his arrest is unimportarit, 
compared with the duty I now assign you. You will, there- 
fore, recall your men, if any are in pursuit, and endeavour 
to defeat the enemy forthwith. 

“Your obedient servant, 

“Geo. Washevgton.” 

-“Thank God!” cried Dunwoodie, “my hands are washed 
of Henry’s recapture; I can now move to my duty with 
honour.” 

“And with prudence too, dear Peyton,” said Frances, with 
a face as pale as death; “remember, Dunwoodie, you leave 
behind you new claims on your life.” 

’ The youth dwelt on her lovely but pallid features with 
rapture; and, as he folded her to his heart, exclaimed — 

“For your sake, I will, lovely innocent!” Frances sobbed 
a moment on his bosom, and he tore himself from her 
presence. 

Miss Peyton retired with her niece, to whom she con- 
ceived it necessary, before they separated for the night, to 
give an admonitory lecture on the subject of matrimonial 


414 


THE SPY 


duty. Her instruction was modestly received, if not prop- 
erly digested. We regret that history has not handed down 
to us this precious dissertation; hut the result of all our 
investigation has been to learn that it partook largely of 
those peculiarities which are said to tincture the rules pre- 
scribed to govern bachelors’ cnildren. We shall now leave 
the ladies of' the Wharton family, and return to Captain 
Wharton and Harvey Birch*. 


V' 





\ 




I 


v!l1 



CHAPTER XXXII 


Allow him not a parting word; 

Short be the shrift, and sure the cord! 

Rokeby. 


/ 

The pedler hnd his companion soon reached the valley, 
and after pausing to listen, and hearing no sounds which 
announced that pursuers were abroad, they entered the 
highway. Acquainted with every step that led through the 
mountains, and possessed of sinews inured to toil, Birch 
led the way, with the lengthened strides that were peculiar 
to the man and his profession; his pack alone was wanting 
to finish the appearance of his ordinary business air. 
At times, when they approached one of those little posts * 
held by the American troops, with y^hich the Highlands 
abounded, he would take a circuit to avoid the sentinels, 
and plunge fearlessly into a thicket, or ascend a rugged 
hill, that to the eye seemed impassable. But the pedler 
was familiar with every turn in their difficult route, knew 
where the ravines might be penetrated, or where the 
streams were fordable. In one or two instances, Henry 
thought that their further progress was absolutely at an 
end, but the ingenuity, or knowledge, of his guide, con- 
quered every difficulty. After walking at a great rate for 
three hours, they suddenly diverged from the road, which 
inclined to the east, and held their course directly across 
the hills, in a due south direction. This movement was 
made, the pedler informed his companion, in order to avoid 
the parties who constantly 'patroled in the southern en- 
trance of the Highlands, as well as to shorten the distance, 
by travelling in a straight line. After reaching the sum- 
mit of a hill, Harvey seated himself by the side of a little 
run, and opening a wallet, that he had slung where his 


4i5 


416 


THE SPY 


pack was commonly suspended, he invited his comrade to 
partake of the coarse fare it contained. Henry had kept 
pace with the pedler, more by the excitement natural to 
his situation, than by the equality of his physical powers. 
The idea of a halt was unpleasant, so long as there existed 
a possibility of the horse getting below him, in time to 
intercept their retreat through the neutral ground. He, 
therefore, stated his apprehensions to his companion, and 
urged a wish to proceed. 

•“Follow my example. Captain Wharton,” said the pedler, 
commencing his frugal meal; “if the horse have started, it 
will be more than man can do to head them; and if they 
have not, work is cut out for them, that will drive all 
thoughts of you and me from their brains.” 

“You said yourself, that two hours’ detention was all- 
important to us, and if we loiter here, of what use will be 
the advantage that we may have already obtained?” 

“The time is passed, and Major Dunwoodie thinks little 
of following two men, when hundreds are waiting for him, 
on the banks of the river.” 

“Listen!” interrupted Henry; “there are horse at this 
moment passing the foot of the hill. I hear them even 
laughing and talking to each other. Hist! there is the 
voice of Dunwoodie himself; he calls to his comrade in a 
manner that shows but little uneasiness. One would think 
that the situation of his friend would lower his spirits; 
surely Prances could not have given him the letter.” 

On hearing the first exclamation of the Captain, Birch 
arose from his seat, and approached cautiously to the brow 
of the hill, taking care to keep his body in the shadow of 
the rocks, so as to be unseen at any distance, and earjiestly 
reconnoitred the group of passing horsemen. He continued 
listening, until their quick footsteps were no longer audible, 
and then quietly returned to his seat, and with incompar- 
able coolness resumed his meal. 

“You have a long walk, and a tiresome one, before you. 
Captain Wharton; you had better do as I do — you were 
eager for food at the hut above Pishkill, but travelling 
seems to have worn down your appetite.” 


THE SPY 


417 


“I thought myself safe then, but the information of my 
sister fills me with uneasiness, and I cannot eat.” 

“You have less reason to be troubled now than at any 
time since the night before you were taken, when you 
refused my advice, and an offer to see you in, in safety,” 
returned the pedler. “Major Dunwoodie is not a man to 
laugh and be gay, when his friend is in difficulty. Come, 
then, and eat, for no horse will be in our way, if we can 
hold our legs for four hours longer, and the sun keeps 
behind the hills as long as common.” 

There was a composure in the pedler’s manner that en- 
couraged his companion; and having once determined to 
submit to Harvey’s government, he suffered himself to be 
persuaded into a tolerable supper, if quantity be considered 
without any reference to the quality. After completing 
their repast, the pedler resumed his journey. 

Henry followed in blind submission to his will. For two 
hours more they struggled with the difficult and dangerous 
passes of the Highlands, without road, or any other guide 
than the moon, which was travelling the heavens, now 
wading through flying clouds, and now shining brightly. 
At length they arrived at a point where the mountains 
sunk into rough and unequal hillocks, and passed at once 
from the barren sterility of the precipices, to the imperfect 
culture of the neutral ground. 

The pedler now became more guarded in the manner in 
which they proceeded, and took divers precautions to pre- 
vent meeting any moving parties of the Americans. With 
the stationary posts he was too familiar to render it prob- 
able he might fall upon any of them unawares. He wound 
among the hills and vales, now keeping the highways and 
now avoiding them, with a precision that seemed instinc- 
tive. There was nothing elastic in his tread, but he glided 
over the ground with enormous strides, and a body bent 
forward, without appearing to use exertion, or know 
weariness. 

The moon had set, and a faint streak of light w'as begin- 
ning to show itself in the east. Captain Wharton ventured 
to express a sense of fatigue, and to enquire if they were 


418 


THE SPY 


not yet arrived at a part of the country, where it might be 
safe to apply at some of the farm-houses for admission. 

“See here,” said the pedler, pointing to a hill, at a short 
distance in their rear; “do you not see a man walking on 
the point of that rock? Turn, so as to bring the daylight 
in the range — now, see, he moves, and seems to be looking 
earnestly at something to the eastward. That is a royal 
sentinel; two hundred of the rig’lar troops lay on that hill, 
no doubt sleeping’ on their arms.” 

“Then,” cried Henry, “let us join them, and our danger is 
ended.” 

“Softly, softly. Captain Wharton,” said the pedler, dryly, 
“you’ve once been in the midst of three hundred of them, 
but there was a man who could take you out; see you not 
yon dark body, on the side of the opposite hill, just above 
^he corn-stalks? There are the — the rebels, (since that is 
the word for us loyal subjects), waiting only for day, to see 
who will be master of the ground.” 

“Nay, then,” exclaimed the fiery youth; “I will join the 
troops of my prince, and share their fortunes, be it good 
or be it ba(J.” 

• You forget that you fight with a halter round your neck; 
no, no — I have promised one whom I must not disappoint, 
to carry you safe in; and unless you forget what -I have 
already done, and what I have risked for you. Captain 
Wharton, you will turn and follow me to Harlem.” 

To this appeal the youth felt unwillingly obliged to 
submit; and they continued their course towards the city. 
It was not long before they gained the banks of the Hud- 
son. After searching for a short time under the shore, 
the pedler discovered a skiff, that appeared to be an old 
acquaintance; and entering it with his companion, he 
landed him on the south side of the Croton. Here Birch 
declared 'they were in safety; for the royal troops held 
the continentals at bay, and the former were out in too 
great strength, for the light parties of the latter to trust 
themselves below that river, on the immediate banks of the 
Hudson. 

Throughout the whole' of this arduous flight, the pedler 


THK yi>Y 


419 


had manifested a coolness and presence of mind that 
nothing appeared to disturb. All his faculties seemed to 
be of more than usual perfection, and the infirmities of 
nature to have no dominion over him. Henry had followed 
him like a child in leading-strings, and he now reaped his 
reward, as he felt a bound of pleasure at his heart, on hear- 
ing that he was- relieved from apprehension, and permitted 
to banish every doubt of security. 

A steep and laborious ascent brought them from the level 
of the tide-waters to the high lands, that form, in this part 
of the river, the eastern banks of the Hudson. Retiring a 
little from the highway, under the shelter of a thicket of 
cedars, the pedler threw his form on a flat rock, and an- 
nounced to his companion that the hour for rest and 
refreshment was at length arrived. The day was now 
opened, and objects could be seen in the distance, with 
distinctness. Beneath them lay the Hudson, stretching to 
the south in a straight line, as far as the eye could reach. 
To the north, the broken fragments of the Highlands, 
threw upwards their lofty heads, above masses of fog that 
hung over the water, and by which the course of the river 
could be traced into the bosom of hills, whose conical sum- 
mits were grouping together, one behind another, in that 
disorder which might be supposed to have succeeded their 
gigantic, but fruitless, efforts to stop the progress of the 
flood. Emerging from these confused piles, the river, as if 
rejoicing at its release from the struggle, expanded into a 
wide bay, which was ornamented by a few fertile and low 
points that jutted humbly into its broad basin. On the 
opposite, or western shore, the rocks of Jersey w'ere gathered 
into an array that has obtained for them the name of the 
'^palisacloes,'’^ elevating themselves for many hundred feet, 
as if to protect the rich cotintry in their rear from the in- 
roads of the conqueror; but, disdaining such an enemy: 
the river swept proudly by their feet, and held its undeviat- 
ing way to the ocean. A ray of the rising sun darted upon 
the slight cloud that hung over the placid river, and at 
once the whole scene was in motion, changing and assum- 
ing new forms, and exhibiting fresh objects in each succes- 


420 


THE SPY 


sive moment. At the daily rising of this great curtain of 
nature, at the present time, scores of white sails and slug- 
gish vessels are seen- thickening on the water, with that 
air of life which denotes the neighborhood to the me- 
tropolis of a great and flourishing empire; hut to Henry 
and the pedler it displayed only the square yards and lofty 
masts of a vessel of war, riding a few miles below them. 
Before the fog had begun to move, the tall spars were seen 
above it, and from one of them a long pennant was feebly 
borne abroad in the current of night air, that still quivered 
along the river; but as the smoke arose, the black hull, . 
the crowded and complicated mass of rigging, and the heavy 
yards and booms, spreading their arms afar, were succes- 
sively brqught into view. 

“There, Captain Wharton,” said the pedler, “there is a 
safe resting-place for you; America has no arm that can 
reach you, if you gain the deck of that ship. She is sent 
up to cover the foragers, and support the troops; the rig’lar 
officers are fond of the sound of cannon from their ship- 
ping.” 

Without condescending to reply to the sarcasm con- 
veyed in this speech, or perhaps not noticing it, Henry 
joyfully acquiesced in the proposal, and it was accordingly 
arranged between them, that, as soon as they were re- 
freshed, he should endeavour to get on board the vessel. 

While busily occupied in the very indispensable opera- 
tion of breaking their fast, our adventurers were startled 
with the sound of distant fire-arms. At first a few scatter- 
ing shots were fired, which were succeeded by a long and 
animated roll of musketry, and then quick and heavy vol- 
leys followed each other. 

“Your prophecy is made good,” cried the English officer, 
springing upon his feet. “Our troops and the rebels are 
at it! — I would give six months’ pay to see the charge.” 

“Umph!” returned his companion, without ceasing his 
meal; “ they do very well to look at from a distance; T 
can’t say but the company of this bacon, cold as it is, is 
more to my taste, just now, than a hot fire from the con- ’ 
tinentals.” 


THE SPY 


421 


“The discharges' are heavj^ for so small a force; but the 
fire seems irregular.” 

“The scattering guns are from the Connecticut militia,” 
said Harvey, raising his head to listen; “they rattle it off 
finely, and are no fools at a mark. The volleys are the 
rig’lars, who, you know, fire by word — as long as they 
can.” 

“I like not the warmth of what you call a scattering- 
fire, exclaimed the Captain, moving about* with uneasi- 
ness; “ it is more like the roll of a drum than the shooting 
of skirmishers.” 

“No, no; I said not skrimmagers,” returned the other, 
raising himself upon a knee, and ceasing to eat; “so long as 
they stand, they are too good for the best troops in the 
royal army. Each man does his work, as if fighting by 
the job; and then, they think while they fight, and don’t 
send bullets among the clouds, that were meant to kill 
men upon earth.” 

“You talk and look, sir, as if you wished them success,” 
said Henry, sternly. • ’ 

“I wish success to the good cause only, Captain Whar- 
ton. I thought you knew me too well, to be uncertain 
which party I favoured.” 

“Oh! you are reputed loyal, Mr. Birch. — But the volleys 
have ceased!” 

Both now listened intently for a little while, during 
which the irregular reports became less brisk, and sud- 
denly heavy and repeated volleys followed. 

“They’ve been at the bayonet,” said the pedler; “the 
rig’lars have tried the bayonet, and the rebels are driven.” 

“Ay, Mr. Birch, the bayonet is the thing for the British 
soldier, after all. They delight in the bayonet!” 

“Well, to my notion,” said the pedler, “there’s but little 
delight to be taken in any such fearful weapon. I dare 
say the militia are of my mind, for half of them don’t carry 
the ugly things. — Lord! Lord! Captain, I wish you’d go 
with me once into the rebel camp, and hear what lies 
the men will tell about Bunker Hill and Burg’yne: you’d 


4^2 


THE SPY 


think they loved the bayonet as much as they do their 
dinners.” 

There was a chuckle, and an air of affected innocency 
about his companion, that rather annoyed Henry, and he 
did not deign to reply. 

The firing now became desultory, occasionally inter- 
mingled with heavy volleys. Both of the fugitives were 
standing, listening with much anxiety, when a man, armed 
with a musket, was seen stealing toward^ them, under the 
shelter of the cedar bushes, that partially covered the hill. 
Henry first observed this suspicious-looking stranger, and 
instantly pointed him out to his companion. Birch started, 
and certainly made an indication of sudden flight; but 
recollecting himself, he stood, in sullen silence, until the 
stranger was within a few yards of them. 

“ ’Tis friends,^ said the fellow, clubbing his gun, but 
apparently afraid to venture nearer. 

“You had better retire,” said Birch; “here are rigTars 
at hand. We are not’ ‘near Dunwoodie’s horse now, and 
you will not find me,uan easy prize to-day.” 

“Damn Major Dunwmodie and his horse!” cried the 
leader of the Skinners (for it was he); “God bless King 
George! and a speedy end to the rebellion, say I. If you 
would show me the safe way in to the refugees, Mr. Birch, 
I’ll pay you w^ell, and ever after stand your friend, in the 
bargain.” / 

“The road is as open to you as to me,” said Birch, turn- 
ing from him in ill-concealed disgust; “if you want to 
find the refugees, you know well where they lay.” 

“Ay, but I’m a little doubtful of going in upon them 
by myself: now, you are well known to them all, and it 
will be no detriment to you just to let me go in with you.” 

Henry here interfered, and after holding a short dialogue 
with the fellow, he entered into a compact with him., that, 
on condition of surrendering his arms, he might join the 
party. The man complied instantly, and Birch received 
his gun with eagerness; nor did he lay it upon his shoulder 
to renew' their march, before he had carefully examined 


THE SPY 


423 


the priming, and ascertained, to his satisfaction, that it 
contained a good .dry ball-cartridge. 

As soon as this engagement was completed, they com- 
menced their journey anew. By following the bank of the 
river, Birch led the way free from observation, until they 
reached the point opposite to the frigate, when, by making 
a signal, a boat was induced to approach. Some time was 
spent, and much precaution used, before the seamen would 
trust themselves ashore; but Henry having finally suc- 
ceeded in making the officer who commanded the party 
credit his assertions, he was able to rejoin his companions 
in arms in safety. ^ Before taking leave of Birch, the Cap- 
tain handed him his purse, which was tolerably well sup- 
plied for the times; the pedler received it, and, watching an 
opportunity, he conveyed it, unnoticed by the Skinner, to 
a part of his dress that was ingeniously contrived to hold 
such, treasures. 

The boat pulled from the shore, and Biroh turned on his 
heel, drawing his breath like one relieved, and shot>up the 
hills with the strides for which he was famous. The Skin- 
ner followed, and each party pursued the common course, 
casting frequent and suspicious glances at the other, and 
both maintaining a most impenetrable silence. 

Wagons were moving along the river- road, and occa- 
sional parties of horse were seen escorting the fruits of 
the inroad towards the city, the pedler had views of 
his own, he rather avoided falling in with any of these 
patrols, than sought their protection. But, after travelling 
a few miles on the immediate banks of the river, during 
which, notwithstanding the repeated efforts of the Skinner 
to establish something like sociability, he maintained a 
most determined silence, keeping a firm hold of the gun, 
and always maintaining a jealous watchfulness of his asso- 
ciate, the pedler suddenly- struck into the highway, 
with an intention of crossing the hills towards Harlem. 
At the moment he gained the path, a body of horse came 
over a little eminence, and was upon him before he per- 
ceived them. It was too late to retreat, and after taking 
a view of the materials that composed this party, Birch 


424 


THE §PY 


rejoiced in the rencontre, as a probable means of relieving 
him from his unwelcome companion. There were some 
eighteen or twenty men, mounted and equipped as drag- 
oons, though neither their appearance nor manners denoted 
much discipline. At their head rode a heavy, middle-aged 
man, whose features expressed as much of animal courage, 
and as little of reason, as could be desired for such an 
occupation. He wore the dress of an officer, but there was 
none of that neatness in his attire, nor grace in his move- 
ments, that was usually found about the gentlemen who 
bore the royal commission. His limbs were firm, and not 
pliable, and he sat his horse with strength and confidence, 
but his bridle-hand would have been ridiculed by the 
meanest rider amongst the Virginians. As he expected, 
this leader instantly hailed the pedler, in a voice by no 
means more conciliating than his appearance. 

“Hey! my gentlemen, which way so fast?” he cried. 
“Has Wasnington sent you down as spies?” 

“I am an innocent pedler,” returned Harvey, meekly, 
“and am going below, to lay in a fresh stock of goods.” 

“And how do you expect to get below, my innocent ped- 
ler? Do you think we hold the forts at Kingsbridge to 
cover such peddling rascals as you, in your goings in, and 
comings out?” 

“I believe I hold a pass that will carry me through,” 
said the pedler, handing him a paper, with an air of great 
indifference. 

The officer, for such he was, read it, and cast a look of 
surprise and curiosity at Harvey, when he had done. 

Then turning to one or two of his men, who had offi- 
ciously stopped the way, he cried — 

“Why do you detain the man? give way, and let him pass 
in peace: but who have we here? your name is not men- 
tioned in the pass!” 

“No, sir,” said the Skinner, lifting his hat with humility; 
“T have been a poor deluded man, who has been serving in 
the rebel army; but, thank God, I’ve lived to see the error 
of my ways, and am now come to make reparation, by 
enlisting under the Lord’s anointed.” 


THE SPY 


425 


Umph! a deserter — a Skinner, I’ll swear, wanting to 
turn Cow-boy! In the last brush I had with the scoundrels, 
I could hardly tell my own men from the enemy. We are 
not over well supplied with coats, and as for countenances, 
the rascals change sides so often, that you may as well 
count their faces for nothing; but trudge on, we will con- 
trive to make use of you, sooner or later.” 

Ungracious as was this reception, if you could judge of 
the Skinner’s feelings from his manner, it nevertheless de- 
lighted him. He moved with alacrity towards the city, 
and really was so happy to escape the brutal looks and 
frightful manner of his interrogator, as to lose sight of all 
other considerations. But the man who performed the 
functions of orderly in the irregular troop, rode up to the 
side of his commander, and commenced a close and appar- 
ently a confidential discourse with his principal. They 
spoke in whispers, and cast frequent and searching glances 
at the Skinner, until the fellow began to think himself an 
object of more than common attention. His satisfaction at 
this distinction was somewhat heightened, at observing a 
smile on the face of the Captain, which, although it might 
be thought grim, certainly denoted satisfaction. This 
pantomime occupied the time they were passing a hollow, 
and concluded as they rose another hill. Here the Captain 
and his sergeant both dismounted, and ordered the party to 
halt. The two partisans each took a pistol from his holster, 
a movement that excited no suspicion or alarm, as it was a 
precaution always observed, and beckoned to the pedler 
and the Skinner to follow. A short walk brought them to 
a spot where the hill overhung the river, the ground falling 
nearly perpendicularly to the shore. On the brow of the 
eminence stood a deserted and dilapidated barn. Many 
boards of its covering were torn from their places, and its 
wide doors were lying, the one in front of the building, and 
the other half-way down the precipice, whither the wind 
had cast it. Entering this desolate spot, the refugee 
officer very coolly took from his pocket a short pipe, which, 
from long use, had acquired not only the hue but the gloss 
of ebony, a tobacco-box, and a small roll of leather, that 


THE spy 


> . 
4Jt) 


contained steel, flint, and tinder. With this apparatus^ he 
soon furnished his mouth with a companion that habit had 
long rendered necessary to reflection. So soon as a large 
column of smoke arose from this arrangement, the Captain 
significantly held forth a hand towards his assistant. A 
small cord was produced from the pocket of the sergeant, 
and handed to the other. The refugee threw out vast puffs 
of smoke, until nearly all of his head was obscured, and 
looked around the building with an inquisitive eye. At 
length he removed the pipe, and inhaling a draught of pure 
air, returned it to its domicile, and proceeded at once to 
business. A heavy piece of timber lay across the girths of 
the barn, but a little way from the southern door, which 
opened directly upon a full view of the river, as it stretched 
far away towards the bay of New York. Over this beam 
the refugee threw one end of the rope, and, regaining it, 
joined the two parts in his hand. A small and weak barrel, 
that wanted a head, the staves of which were loose, and at 
one end standing apart, was left on the floor, probably as 
useless. The sergeant, in obedience to a look from his 
oflficer, placed it beneath the beam. All of these arrange- 
ments were made with immoveable composure, and they 
now seemed completed to the officer’s perfect satisfaction. 

“Come,” he said coolly to the Skinner, who, admiring 
the preparations, had stood a silent spectator of their prog- 
ress. He obeyed; and it was not until he found his neck- 
cloth removed, and hat thrown aside, that he took the 
alarm. But he had so often resorted to a similar expedient 
to extort information, or plunder, that he by no means felt 
the terror an unpractised man would have suffered, at these 
ominous movements. The rope was adjusted to his neck 
with the same coolness that formed the characteristic of the 
whole movement, and a fragment of board being laid upon 
the barrel, he was ordered to mount. 

‘“But it may fall,” said the Skinner, for the first time 
beginning to tremble. “I will tell you any thing — even 
how to surprise our party at the Pond, without all this 
trouble, and it is commanded by my own brother.” 

“I want no information,” returned his executioner (for 


THE SPY 


427 


such he now seemed really to be) throwing the rope re- 
peatedly over the beam, first drawing it tight so as to 
annoy the Skinner a little, and then casting the end from 
him, beyond the reach of any one. 

“This is joking too far,” cried the Skinner, in a tone of 
remonstrance, and raising himself on his toes, with the 
vain hope of releasing himself from the cord, by slipping 
his head through the noose. But the caution and experi- 
ence of the refugee officer had guarded against this escape. 

“What have you done with the horse you stole from me, 
rascal?” muttered the officer of the Cow-boys, throwing 
out columns of smoke while he waited for a reply. 

“He broke down in the chase,” replied the Skinner, 
quickly; “but I can tell you where one is to be found that 
is worth him and his sire.” 

“Liar! I will help myself when I am in need; you had 
better call upon God for aid, as your hour is short.” On 
concluding this consoling advice, he struck the barrel a 
violent blow with his heavy foot, and the slender staves 
flew in every direction, leaving the Skinner whirling in the 
air. As his hands were unconfined, he threw them upwards, 
and held himself suspended by main strength. 

“Come, Captain,” he said, coaxingly, a little huskiness 
creeping into his voice, and his knees beginning to shake 
with tremor, “end the joke; ’tis enough to make a laugh, 
and my arms begin to tire — I can’t hold on much longer.” 

“Harkee, Mr. Pedler,” said the refugee, in a voice that 
would not be denied, “I want not your company. Through 
that door lies your road — march! offer to touch that dog, 
and you’ll swing in his place, though twenty Sir Henries 
wanted your services.” So saying, he retired to the road 
with the Sergeant, as the pedler precipitately retreated 
down the bank. 

Birch went no farther than a bush that opportunely 
offered itself as a screen to his person, whil.e he yielded to 
an unconquerable desire to witness the termination of this 
extraordinary scene. 

Left alone, the Skinner began to throw fearful glances 
around, to espy the hiding-places of his tormentors. For 


428 


THE SPY 


the first time the horrid idea seemed to shoot through his | 
brain that something serious was intended by the Cow-boy. | 
He called entreatingly to be released, and made rapid and 
incoherent promises of important information, mingled 
with affected pleasantry at their conceit, which he would 
hardly admit to himself could mean any thing so dreadful 
as it seemed. But as he heard the tread of the horses 
moving on their course, and in vain looked around for 
human aid, violent trembling seized his limbs, and his eyes 
began to start from his head with terror. He made a 
desperate effort to reach the beam ; but, too much exhausted 
with his previous exertions, he caught the rope in his 
teeth, in a vain effort to sever the cord, and fell to the 
whole length of his arms. Here his cries were turned Into 
shrieks — 

“Help! cut the rope! Captain! — Birch! good pedler! 
Down with the Congress! — Sergeant! — for God’s sake, 
help! Hurrah for the king! — Oh God! oh God — mercy — 
mercy — mercy!” 

As his voice became suppressed, one of his hands en- 
deavoured to make its way between the rope and his neck, 
and partially succeeded; but the other fell quivering by 
his side. A convulsive shuddering passed over his whole 
frame, and he hung a hideous corse. 

Birch continued gazing on this scene with a kind of in- 
fatuation. At its close he placed his hands to his ears, and 
rushed towards the highway. Still the cries for mercy 
rang through his brain, and* it 'was many weeks before his 
memory ceased to dwell on the horrid event. The Cow- 
boys rode steadily on their route, as if nothing had oc- 
curred; and the body was left swinging in the wind, until 
chance directed the footsteps of some straggler to the 
place. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


Green be the turf above thee, 

Friend of my better days; 

None knew thee but to love thee, 

None named thee but to praise. 

Halleck. 

While the scenes and events that we have recorded 
were occurring. Captain Lawton led his small party, by 
slow and wary marches, from the Four Corners to the front 
of a body of the enemy; where he so successfully manoeu- 
vred, for a short time, ♦as completely to elude all their 
efforts to entrap him, and yet so disguise his own force as 
to excite the constant apprehension of an attack from the 
Americans. This forbearing policy, on the side of the 
partisan, was owing to positive orders received from his 
commander. When Dunwoodie left his detachment, the 
enemy were known to be slowly advancing, and he directed 
Lawton to hover around them, until his own return, and 
the arrival of a body of foot, might enable him to intercept 
their retreat. 

The trooper discharged his duty to the letter, but with 
no little of the impatience that made part of his character 
when restrained from the attack. 

During these movements, Betty Flanagan guided her 
little cart with indefatigable zeal among the rocks of West- 
chester, now discussing with the sergeant the nature of 
evil spirits, and now combating with the surgeon sundry 
points of practice that w’-ere hourly arising between them. 
But the moment at length arrived that was to decide the 
temporary mastery of the field. A detachment of the 
eastern militia moved out from their fastnesses, and ap- 
proached the enemy. 

The junction between Lawton and his auxiliaries was 

429 


430 


THE SPY 


made at midnight, and an immediate consultation was held 
between him and the leader of the foot-soldiers. After 
listening to the statements of the partisan, who rather 
despised the prowess of his enemy, the commandant of the 
party determined to attack the British, the moment day- 
light / enabled him to reconnoitre their position, without 
waiting for the aid of Dunwoodie and his horse. So soon 
as this decision was made, Lawton retired from the build- 
ing where the consultation was held, and rejoined his own 
small command. 

The few troopers who were with the captain had fastened 
their horses in a’spot adjacent to a haystack, and laid their 
own frames under its shelter, to catch a few hours’ sleep. 
But Dr. Sitgreaves, Sergeant Hollister, and Betty Flanagan 
were congregated at a short distance by themselves, having 
spread a few blankets upon the dry surface of a' rock. 
Lawton threw his huge frame by the side of the surgeon, 
and folding his cloak about him, leaned his head upon one 
hand, and appeared deeply engaged in contemplating the 
moon as it waded through the heavens. The Sergeant 
was sitting upright, in respectful deference to the surgeon, 
and the washerwoman was now raising her head, in order 
to vindicate some of her favourite maxims, and now com- 
posing it on one of her gin-casks, in a vain effort to sleep. 

“So, Sergeant,” continued Sitgreaves, following up a 
previous position, “if you cut upwards, the blow, by losing 
the additional momentum of your weight, will be less- 
destructive, and at the same time effect the true purposes 
of war, that of disabling your enemy.” 

“Pooh! pooh! Sargeant dear,” said the washerwoman, 
raising her head from the blanket; “where’s the harm of. 
taking a life, jist in the way of battle? Is it the rig’lars^ 
who’ll show favour, and they fighting? Ask Captain Jack'^ 
there, if the country could get the liberty, and the boys * 
nci strike their might. I wouldn’t have them disparage | 
the whiskey so much.” 

“It is not to be expected that an ignorant female like 
yourself, Mrs. Flanagan,” returned the surgeon, with a 
calmness that only rendered his contempt more stinging to 


THE SPY 


431 


Betty, “can comprehend the distinctions of surgical 
science; neither are you accomplished in the sword exer- 
cise; so that dissertations upon the judicious use of that 
weapon could avail you nothing, either in theory or in 
practice.” 

‘.‘It’s hut little I care, any way, for such botherments; 
but fighting is no play, and a body shouldn’t be partic’lar 
how they strike, or who they hit, so it’s the inimy.” 

“Are we likely to have a warm day. Captain Lawton?” 

“ ’Tis more than probable,” replied the trooper; “these 
militia seldom fail of making a bloody field, either by their 
cowardice or their ignorance, and the real soldier is made 
to suffer for their bad conduct.” 

“Are you ill, John?” said the surgeon, passing his hand 
along the arm of the Captain, until it instinctively settled 
on his pulse; but the steady, even beat announced neither 
bodily nor mental malady. 

“Sick at heart, Archibald, at the folly of our rulers, in 
believing that battles are to be fought, and victories won, 
by fellows who handle a musket as they would a flail; lads’ 
who wink when they pull a trigger, and form a line like a 
hoop-pole. The dependence we place on these men spills 
the best blood of the country.” 

The surgeon listened with amazement. It was not the 
matter, but the manner that surprised him. The trooper 
had uniformly exhibited, on the eve of battle, an anima- 
tion, and an eagerness to engage, that was directly at vari- 
ance with the admirable coolness of his manner at other 
times. But now there was a despondency in the tones of 
his voice, and a listlessness in his air, that was entirely dif- 
ferent. The operator hesitated a moment,' to reflect in 
what manner he could render this change of service in fur- 
thering his favourite system available, and then con- 
tinued — 

“It would be w'ise, John, to advise the Colonel to keep at 
long shot; a spent ball will disable — ” 

“No!” exclaimed the trooper, impatiently; “let the ras- , 
cals singe their whiskers at the muzzles of the British 
muskets, if they can be driven there. — But, enough of them. 


432 


TITE SPY 


Archibald, do you deem that moon to be a world like this, 
containing creatures like ourselves?” 

“Nothing more probable, dear John; we know its size, 
and, reasoning from analogy, may easily conjecture its use. 
Whether or*not its ' inhabitants have attained to that per- 
fection in the sciences which -we have acquired, must 
depend greatly on the ^ state of its society, and in some 
measure upon its physical influences.” 

“I care nothing about their learning, Archibald; but 
’tis a wonderful power that can create such worlds, and 
control them in their wanderings. I know not why, but 
there is a feeling of melancholy excited within me as I gaze 
on that body of light, shaded as it is by your fancied sea 
and land. It seems to be the resting-place of departed 
spirits!” 

“Take a drop, darling,” said Betty, raising her head 
once more, and proffering her own bottle; “’tis the night 
damp that chills the blood — and then the talk with the 
cursed militia is no good for a flery temper. Take a drop, 
darling, ,and ye’ll sleep till the morning. I fed Roanoke 1 
myself, for I thought ye might need hard riding the mor- | 
row.” 

“ ’Tis a glorious heaven to look upon,” continued the . 
trooper, in the same tone, disregarding the offer of Betty, ' 
“and ’tis a thousand pities that such worms as men should ' 
let their vile passions deface such goodly work.” 

“You speak the truth, dear John; there is room for all 
to live and enjoy themselves in peace, if each could be 
satisfled with his own. Still, war has its advantages; it ! 
particularly promotes the knowledge of surgery; and — ” 

“There is a star,” continued Lawton, still bent on his 
own ideas, “struggling to glitter through a few driving 
clouds; perhaps that too is a world, and contains its crea- j 
tures endowed with reason like ourselves; think you that i 
they know of war and bloodshed?” 

“If I might be so bold,” said Sergeant Hollister, mechan- 
ically raising his hand to his cap, “ ’tis mentioned in the 
good book, that the Lord made the sun to stand still while 
Joshua was charging the enemy, in order, sir, as I suppose. 


THE SPY 


433 


that they might have daylight to turn their flank, or per- 
haps make a feint in the rear, or some such manoeuvre. 
Now, if the Lord would lend them a hand, fighting cannot 
be sinful. I have often been nonplussed, though, to find 
that they used them chariots instead of heavy dragoons, 
who are, in all comparison, better to break a line of infan- 
try, afad who, for the matter of that, could turn such 
wheel-carriages, and, getting in the rear, play the very 
devil with them, horse and all.” 

“It is because you do not understand the construction of 
those ancient vehicles. Sergeant Hollister, that you judge 
of them so erroneously,” said the surgeon. “They were 
armed with sharp weapons that protruded from their 
wheels, and which broke up the columns of foot, like dis- 
membered particles of matter. I doubt not, if similar 
instruments were affixed to the cart of Mrs. Flanagan, that 
great confusion might be carried into the ranks of the 
enemy thereby, this very day.” 

“It’s but little that the mare would go, and the rig’lars 
firing at her,” grumbled Betty, from under her blanket; 
“when we got the plunder, the time we drove them through 
the Jarseys it was, I had to back the baste up to the dead; 
for the divil the foot would she move, forenent the firing, 
wid her eyes open. Roanoke and Captain Jack are good 
enough for the red-coats, letting alone myself and the 
mare.” 

A long roll of the drums, from the hill occupied by the 
British, announced that they were on the alert; and a 
corresponding signal was immediately heard from the 
Americans. The bugle of the Virginians struck up its 
martial tones; and in a few moments both the hills, the 
one held by the royal troops, and the other by their ene- 
mies, were alive with armed men. Day had begun to dawn, 
and preparations were making by both parties, to give and 
to receive the attack. In numbers the Americans had 
greatly the advantage; but in discipline and equipments the 
superiority was entirely with their enemies. The arrange- 
ments for the battle were brief, and by the time the sun 
had risen the militia moved forward. 


434 


' THE SPY 


The ground did not admit of the movements of horse; 
and the only duty that could be assigned to the dragoons 
was to watch the moment of victory, and endeavour to 
improve the success to the utmost. Lawton soon 'got his 
warriors into the saddle; and leaving them to the charge of 
Hollister, he rode himself along the line of foot, who, 
in varied dresses, and imperfectly armed, were formed in a 
shape that in some degree resembled a martial array. A 
scornful smile lowered about the lip of the trooper as he 
guided Roanoke with a skilful hand through the windings 
of their ranks; and when the word was given to march, he 
turned the flank of the regiment, and followed close in the 
rear. The Americans had to descend into a little hollow, 
and rise a hill on its opposite side, to approach the enemy. 

The descent was made with tolerable steadiness, until 
near the foot of the hill, when the royal troops advanced 
in a beautiful line, with their flanks protected by the forma- 
tion of the ground. The appearance of the British drew a 
fire from the militia, which was given with good effect, and 
for a moment staggered the regulars. But they were rallied 
by their officers, and threw in volley after volley with great 
steadiness. For a short time the fire was warm and de- 
structive, until the English advanced with the bayonet. 
This assault the militia had not sufficient discipline to 
withstand. Their line wavered, then paused, and finally 
broke into companies and fragments of companies, keeping 
up at the same time a scattering and desultory fire. 

Lawton witnessed these operations in silence, nor did he 
open his mouth until the field was covered with parties of 
the flying Americans. Then, indeed, he seemed stung with 
the disgrace thus heaped upon the arms of his country. 
Spurring Roanoke along the side of the hill, he called to 
the fugitives, in all the strength of his powerful voice. He 
pointed to the enemy, and assured his countrymen that 
they had mistaken the way. There was such a mixture of 
indifference and irony in his exhortations, that a few 
paused in surprise — more joined them, until, roused by the 
example of the trooper, and stimulated by their own spirit, 
they demanded to be led against their foe once m.ore. 


THE SPY 


43f 


“Come on, then, my brave friends!” shouted the trooper, 
turning his horse’s head towards the British line, one flank 
of which was very near him; “come on, and hold your Are 
until it will scorch their eyebrows.” 

The men sprang forward, and followed his example, 
neither giving nor receiving a Are until they had come 
within a very short distance of the enemy. An English 
sergeant, 'who had been concealed by a rock, enraged with 
the audacity of the officer who thus dared their arms, 
stepped from behind his cover, and "advancing within a few 
yards of the trooper, levelled his musket — 

“Fire, and you die!” cried Lawton, spurring his charger, 
which leaped forward at the instant. The action and the 
tone of his voice shook the nerves of the Englishman, who 
drew his trigger with an uncertain aim. Roanoke sprang 
with all his feet from the earth, and, plunging, fell head- 
long and lifeless at the feet of his destroyer. Lawton kept 
his feet, standing face to face with his enemy. The latter 
presented his bayonet, and made a desperate thrust at the 
trooper’s heart. The steel of their weapons emitted sparks 
of fire, and the bayonet flew fifty feet in the air. At the 
next moment its owner lay a quivering corpse. 

“Come on!” shouted the trooper, as a body of English 
appeared on the rock, and threw in a close fire; “come on!” 
he repeated, and brandished his sabre fiercely. Then his 
gigantic form fell b£\.ckward, like a majestic pine yielding 
to the axe; but still, as he slowly fell, he continued to wield 
his sabre, and once more the deep tones of his voice were 
heard uttering, “Come on!” 

The advancing Americans paused aghast, and, turning, 
they abandoned the field to the royal troops. 

It was neither the intention nor the policy of the English 
commander to pursue his success, for he well knew that 
strong parties of the Americans would soon arrive; accord- 
ingly, he only tarried to collect his w'ounded, and, forming 
in a square, he commenced his retreat towards the ship- 
ping. Within twenty minutes of the fall of Lawton, the 
ground was deserted by both English and Americans. 

When the inhabitants of the country were called upon 


436 


THE SPY 


to enter the field, they were necessarily attended by such 
surgical advisers as were furnished by the low state of the 
profession in the interior at that day. Dr. Sitgreaves en- 
tertained quite as profound a contempt for the medical 
attendants of the militia as the Captain did of the troops 
them.>olves. He wandered, therefore, around the field, 
casting many a glance of disapprobation at the slight 
operations that came under his eye; but when, among the’ 
flying troops, he found that his comrade and friend was 
nowhere to be seen, he hastened back to the spot at which 
Hollister was posted, to enquire if the trooper had returned. 
Of course, the answer was in the negative. Filled with a 
thousand uneasy conjectures, the surgeon, without regard- 
ing, or indeed without at all reflecting upon any dangers 
that might lie in his way, strode over the ground at an 
enormous rate, to the point where he knew the final 
struggle had been. Once before, the surgeon had rescued 
his friend from death in a similar situation; and he felt a 
secret joy in his own conscious skill, as he perceived Betty 
Flanagan seated on the ground, holding in her lap the head 
of a man whose size and dress he knew could belong only 
to the trooper. As he approached the spot, the surgeon 
became alarmed at the aspect of the washerwoman. Her 
little black bonnet was thrown aside, and her hair, which 
was already streaked with grey, hung around her face in 
disorder. 

“John! dear John!” said the doctor, tenderly, as he 
bent and laid his hand upon the senseless wrist of the 
trooper, from which it recoiled with an intuitive knowl- 
edge of his fate; “John! dear .Tohn! where are you hurt? 
— can I help you?” 

“Yee talk to the senseless clay,” said Betty, rocking her 
body, and unconsciously playing with the raven ringlets of 
the trooper’s hair; “it’s no more will he hear, and it’s but 
little will he mind yee’r probes and yee’r med’cines. Och 
hone, och hone! — and where will be the liberty now? or 
who will there be to fight the battle, or gain the day?” 

“John!” repeated the surgeon, still unwilling to believe 
ihe evidence of his unerring senses, “dear John, speak to 


THE SPY 


437 • 


me; say what you will, that you do but speak. Oh, God! 
he is dead; would that I had died with him!” 

“There is but little use in living and fighting now,” said 
Betty; “both him and the baste! see, there is the poor 
cratur, and here is the master! I fed the horse with Iny 
own hands, the day; and the last male that he ate was of 
my own cooking. Och hone! och hone! — that Captain 
Jack should live to be killed by the rig’iars!” 

“John! my dear John!” said the surgeon, with con- 
vulsive sobs, “thy hour has come, and many a more prudent 
man survives thee; but none better, nor braver. Oh! 
John, thou wert to me a kind friend, and very dear: it is 
unphilosophical to grieve; but for thee, John, I must weep, 
even in bitterness of heart!” 

The doctor buried his face in his hands, and for several 
minutes sat yielding to an ungovernable burst of sorrow; 
while the washerwoman gave vent to her grief in words; 
moving her body in a kind of writhing, and playing with 
different parts of her favourite’s dress with her fingers, 

“And who’ll there be to incourage the boys now?” she 
said. “Oh! Captain Jack! Captain Jack! yee was the 
sowl of the troop, and it was but little we know’d of the 
danger, and yee fighting. Och! he was no maly mouth’d, 
that quarrelled wid a widowed woman for the matter of a 
burn in the mate, or the want of a breakfast. Taste a drop, 
darling, and it may be, ’twill revive yee. Och! and he’ll 
nivir taste agin; here’s the doctor, honey, him yee used to 
blarney wid,. wapeing as if the poor sowl would die for yee, 
Och! he’s gone, he’s gone; and the liberty is gone wid him.” 

A thundering sound of horses’ feet came rolling along 
the road which led near the place where Lawton lay, and 
directly the whole body of Virginians appeared, with 
Dunwoodie at their head. The news of the captain’s fate 
had reached him; for the instant that he saw the body 
he halted the. squadron, and dismounting, approached the 
spot. The countenance of Lawton was not in the least dis- 
torted, but the angry frown which had lowered over his 
brow during the battle was fixed even in death. His f*^ame 
was composed, and stretched as in sleep. Dunwoodie rook 


43o 


THE SPY 


hold of his hand, and gazed a moment in silence; his own 
dark eye kindled, and the paleness which had overspread 

his features was succeeded by a spot of deep red in either 

% 

cheek. 

“With his own sword will I avenge him!” he iried, en- 
deavoring to take the weapon from the hand of Lawton; 
but the grasp resisted his utmost strength. “It shall be 
buried with him. Sitgreaves, take care of our friend,- 
while I revenge his death.” 

The Major hastened back to his charger, and led the way 
in pursuit of the enemy. 

While Dunwoodie had been thus engaged, the body of 
Lawton lay in open view of the whole squadron. He was 
a universal favourite, and the sight inflamed the men to 
the utmost: neither oflicers nor soldiers possessed that 
coolness which js necessary to ensure success in military 
operations; but they spurred ardently after their enemies, 
burning with a wish for vengeance. 

The English were formed in a hollow square, which con- 
tained their wounded, who were far from numerous, and 
were marching steadily across a very uneven country as 
the dragoons approached. The horse charged in column, 
and were led by Dunwoodie, who, burning with revenge, 
thought to ride through their ranks, and scatter them at a 
blow. But the enemy knew their own strength too well, 
and, standing firm, they received the charge on the points 
of their bayonets. .The horses of the Virginians recoiled, 
and the rear rank of the foot throwing in a close fire, the 
Major, with a few men, fell. The English continued their 
retreat the moment they were extricated from their assail- 
ants; and Dunwoodie, who was severely, but not danger- 
ously wounded, recalled his men from further attempts, 
which, in that stony country, must necessarily be fruitless. 

A sad duty remained to be fulfilled. The dragoons retired 
slowly through the hills, conveying their v^ounded com- 
mander, and the body of Lawton. The latter they interred 
under the ramparts of one of the Highland forts, and the 
former they consigned to the tender care of his afflicted 
bride. 


THE SPY 


439 


Many weeks were gone before the Major was restored to 
sufficient strength to be removed. During those weeks, 
how often did he bless the moment that gave him a right to 
the services of his beautiful nurse! She hung around his 
couch with fond attention; administered with her own 
hands every prescription of the indefatigable Sitgreaveis, 
and grew each hour in the affections and esteem of her 
husband. An order from Washington soon sent the troops 
into winter-quarters, and permission was given • to Dun- 
woodie to repair to his own plantation, with the rank of 
lieutenant-colonel, in order to complete the restoration of 
his health. Captain Singleton made one of the party; and 
the whole family retired from the active scenes of the war, 
to the ease and plenty of the Major’s own estate. Before 
leaving Pishkill, however, letters were conveyed to them, 
through an unknown hand, acquainting them with Henry’s 
safety and good health; and also that Colonel Wellmere 
had left the continent for his native island, lowered in the 
estimation of every honest man in the royal army. 

It was a happy winter for Dunwoodie, and smiles once 
more began to play \around the lovely mouth of Frances. 




CHAPTER XXXIV 


’Midst furs, and silks, and jewels’ sheen, 

He stood, in simple Lincoln green. 

The centre of the glittering ring; 

And Snowdoim’s knight is Scotland’s king! 

Lady of the Lake. 

The commencement of the following year was passed, on 
the part of the Americans, in making great preparations, in 
conjunction with their allies, to bring the war to a close. 
In the south, Greene and Rawdon made a bloody campaign, 
that was highly honourable to the troops of the latter, but 
which, by terminating entirely to the advantage of the 
former, proved him to be the better general of the two. 

New York was the point that was threatened by the 
allied armies; and Washington, by exciting a constant 
apprehension for the safety of that city, prevented such 
reinforcements from being sent to Cornwallis as would 
have enabled him to improve his success. 

At length, as autumn approached, every indication was 
given that the final moment had arrived. 

The French forces drew near to the royal lines, passing 
through the Neutral Ground, and threatened an attack in 
the direction of Kingsbridge, while large bodies of Ameri- 
cans were acting in concert. By hovering around the 
British posts, and drawing nigh in the Jerseys, they 
seemed to threaten the royal forces from that quarter 
also. The preparations partook of the nature of both a 
siege and a storm. But Sir Henry Clinton, in the posses- 
sion of intercepted letters from Washington, rested se- 
curely within his lines, and cautiously disregarded the 
solicitations of Cornwallis for succour. 

It was at the close of a stormy day in the month of 
September, that a large assemblage of officers was collected 


440 


THE SPY 


449 


go-seek with the ships; but we are now marching back from 
where we started, shaking our heads, and as surly as the 
devil.” 

“Perhaps you have a son among the soldiers,” said his 
companion, with a milder demeanour, and an air of kind- 
ness; “if so, tell me his name and regiment, and I will take 
you to him.” 

The old man shook his head, and, passing his hand 
over his silver locks, with an air of meek resignation, he 
answered — 

“Noi I am alone in the world!” 

“You should have added. Captain Dunwoodie,” cried his 
careless comrade, “if you could find either; for nearly half 
our army has marched down the road, and may be, by this 
time, under the walls of Fort George, for any thing that 
we know to the contrary.” 

The old man stopped suddenly, and looked earnestly 
from one of his companions to the other; the action being 
observed by the soldiers, they paused also. 

“Did I hear right?” the stranger uttered, raising his 
hand to screen his eyes from the rays of the setting sun; 
“what did he call you?” 

“My name is Wharton Dunwoodie,” replied the youth, 
smiling. 

The stranger motioned silently for him to remove his hat. 
Which the youth did accordingly, and his fair hair blew 
aside like curls of silk, and opened the whole of his in- 
genuous countenance to the inspection of the other. 

“ ’Tis like our native land!” exclaimed the old man with 
vehemence, “improving with time; — God has blessed both.” 

“Why do you stare thus. Lieutenant Mason?” cried 
Captain Dunwoodie, laughing a little; “you show more 
astonishment than when you saw the falls.” 

“Oh, the falls! — they are a thing to be looked at on a 
moonshiny night, by your aunt Sarah and that gay old 
bachelor. Colonel Singleton; but a fellow like myself never 
shows surprise, unless it may be at such a touch as this.” 

The extraordinary vehemence of the stranger’s manner 
had passed away as suddenly as it was exhibited, but he 


1 


450 THE SPY 

listened to this speech with deep interest, while Dunwoodie 
replied a little gravely — 

“Come, come, Tom, no jokes about my good aunt, I beg; 
she is kindness itself; and I have heard it whispered that 
her youth was not altogether happy.” 

“Why, as to rumour,” said Mason, “there goes one in ' 
Accomac, that Colonel Singleton offers himself to her regu- f 
larly every Valentine’s day; and there are some who add, 
that your old great-aunt helps his suit.” 

4 “Aunt Jeanette!” said Dunwoodie, laughing; “dear good 
soul, she thinks but little of marriage in any shape, I be- 
lieve, since the death of Dr. Sitgreaves. There were some 
whispers of a courtship between them formerly, but it ^ 
ended in nothing but civilities, and I suspect that the whole | 
story arises from the intimacy of Colonel Singleton and | 
my father. You know they were comrades in the horse, as J 
indeed was your own father.” | 

“I know all that, of course; but you must not tell me | 
that the particular, prim bachelor goes so often to General | 
Dunwoodie’s plantation merely for the sake of talking old | 
soldier with your father. The last time I was there, that | 
yellow, sharp-nosed housekeeper of your mother’s took me " 
into the pantry, and said that the colonel was no depisable | 
match, as she called it, and how the sale of his plantation I 
in Georgia had brought him — oh. Lord! I don’t know how | 
much.” 

“Quite likely,” returned the captain; “Katy Haynes is no 
bad calculator.” 

They had stopped during this conversation, in uncertainty 
whether their new companion was to be left or not. 

The old man listened to each word as it was uttered, | 
with the most intense interest; but, towards the conclusion | 
of the dialogue, the earnest attention of his countenance f 
changed to a kind of inward smile. He shook his head, . 
and, passing his hand over his forehead, seemed to be ^ 
thinking of other times. Mason paid but little attention to v 
the expression of his features, and continued — 

“To me, she is selfishness embodied!” 

“Her selfishness does but little harm,” returned Dun- 1 


THE SPY 


451 


woodie. “One of her greatest difficulties is her aversion to 
the blacks. She says, that she never saw but one that she 
liked.” 

“And who was he?” 

“His name was Caesar; he was a house-servant of my 
late grandfather Wharton. You don’t remember him, I 
believe; he died the same year with his master, while we 
were children. Katy yearly sings his requiem, and, upon 
my word, I believe he deserved it. I have heard some- 
thing of his helping my English uncle, as we call General 
Wharton, in some difficulty that occurred in the old war. 
My mother always speaks of him with great affection. Both 
CaBsar and Katy came to Virginia with my mother when 
she married. My mother was — ” 

“An angel!” interrupted the old man,’ in a voice that 
startled the young soldiers by its abruptness and energy. 

“Did you know her?” cried the son, with a glow of 
pleasure on his cheek. 

The reply of the stranger was interrupted by sudden and 
heavy explosions of artillery, which were immediately 
followed by continued volleys of small-arms, and in a few 
minutes the air was filled with the tumult of a warm and 
well-contested battle. 

The two soldiers hastened with precipitation towards 
the camp, accompanied by their new acquaintance. The 
excitement and anxiety created by the approaching fight 
prevented a continuation of the conversation, and the three 
held their way to the army, making occasional conjectures 
on the cause of the fire, and the probability of a general 
engagement. During their short and hurried walk. Captain 
Dunwoodie, however, threw several friendly glances at the 
old man, who moved over the ground with astonishing 
energy for his years, for the heart of the youth was warmed 
by an eulogium on a mother that he adored. In a short 
time, they joined the regiment to which the officers be- 
longed, when the captain, squeezing the stranger’s hand, 
earnestly begged that he would make enquiries after him 
on the following morning, and that he might see him in 
his own tent. Here they separated. 


452 


THE SPY 


Every thing in the American camp announced an ap- | 
preaching struggle. At a distance of a few miles, the | 
sound of cannon and musketry was heard above the roar 
of the cataract. The troops were soon in motion, and a 
movement made to support the division of the army which 
was already engaged. Night had set in before the reserve 
and irregulars reached the foot of Lundy’s Lane, a road 
that diverged from the river and crossed a conical emi- 
nence, at no great distance from the Niagara highway. 
The summit of this hill was crowned with the cannon of 
the British, and in the flat beneath was the remnant of 
Scott’s gallant brigade, which for a long time had held an 
unequal contest with distinguished bravery. A new line 
was interposed, and one column of the Americans directed 
to charge up the hill, parallel to the road. This column 
took the English in flank, and, bayoneting their artillerists, 
gained possession of the cannon. They were immediately 
joined by their comrades, and the enemy was swept from 
the hill. But large reinforcements were joining the Eng- 
lish general momentarily, and their troops were too brave 
to rest easy under the defeat. Repeated and bloody charges 
were made to recover the guns, but in all they w^ere re- 
pulsed with slaughter. During the last of these struggles, 
the ardour of the youthful captain whom we have men- 
tioned urged him to lead his men some distance in advance, 
to scatter a daring party of the enemy. He succeeded, but 
in returning to the line missed his lieutenant from the 
station that he ought to have occupied. Soon after this 
repulse, which was the last, orders were given to the shat- 
tered troops to return to the camp. The British were 
nowhere to be seen, and preparations were made to take in 
such of the wounded as could be moved. At this moment 
Wharton Dunwoodie, impelled by affection for his friend, 
seized a lighted fusee, and taking two of his men, went 
himself in quest of his body, where he was supposed to have 
fallen. Mason was found on the side of the hill, seated 
with great composure, but unable to walk from a fractured 
leg. Dunwoodie saw and flew to the side of his comrade, 
exclaiming — 


THE SPY 


453 


“Ah! dear Tom, I knew I should find you the nearest 
man to the enemy.” 

“Softly, softly; handle me tenderly,” replied the lieu- 
tenant; “no, there is a brave fellow still nearer than myself, 
and who he can be I know not. He rushed out of our 
smoke, near my platoon, to make a prisoner or some such 
thing, but, poor fellow, he never came back; there he lies 
just over the hillock. I have spoken to him several times, 
but I fancy he is past answering.” 

Dunwoodie went to the spot, and to his astonishment 
beheld the aged stranger. 

“It is the old man who knew my mother!” cried the 
youth; “for her sake he shall have honourable burial; 
lift him, and let him be carried in; his bones shall rest 
on native soil.” 

The men approached to obey. He was lying on his back, 
with his face exposed to the glaring light of the fusee; his 
eyes were closed, as if in slumber; his lips, sunken with 
years, were slightly moved from their natural position, but 
it seemed more like a smile than a convulsion which had 
caused the change. A soldier’s musket lay near him; his 
hands were pressed upon his breast, and one of them con- 
tained a substance that glittered like silver. Dunwoodie 
stooped, and removing the limbs, perceived the place where 
the bullet had found a passage to his heart. The subject 
of his last care was a tin box, through which the fatal lead 
had gone; and the dying moments of the old man must have 
passed in drawing it from his bosom. Dunwoodie opened 
it, and found a paper in which, to his astonishment, he 
read the following: — 

“Circumstances of political importance, which involve the 
lives and fortunes of many, have hitherto kept secret what 
this paper now reveals. Harvey Birch has for years been a 
faithful and unrequited servant of his country. Though 
man does not, may God reward him for hi-s conduct! 

“Geo. Washington.” 

It was the spy of the neutral ground, who died as he 
had lived, devoted to his country, and a martyr to her 
liberties. 


I 


NOTES 

Page 16 ; Mr. , the narrator of the anecdote' Mr. John 

Jay, the famous American statesman, who became the first Chief 
Justice of the United States, He was a great admirer of Cooper's 
works and was a personal friend of the author. 

18 : Sir Henry Clinton. Commander of the British forces in 
New York. 

19 : That gallant soldier. General Winfield Scott ; see note on 
page 448. 

25 : Vallise. Same as valise. 

25:* Surtout. An overcoat. 

25 : His own hair. Gentlemen in the eighteenth century com- 
monly wore wigs. 

26 ; Madeira. A wine made in Madeira, an island in the Atlantic 
near Morocco. 

28 : Rochambeau. Commander of the first French troops sent as 
aid to the American revolutionists. 

28 : Oates and Cormcallis. Lord Cornwallis defeated Gates at 
Camden in 1780. 

29 : Burgoyne'. Gates had defeated General Burgoyne at Sara- 
toga in the fall of 1777. 

35: Ermine. A fur worn on the cloaks of judges in England. 
Used here as a sign of the judicial office. 

35 : Parliamentary interest. Power or influente in Parliament, 
by which good places w'ere secured, often regardless of fitness. 

36 : Ministerial party. The party of the King, or the Tories, as 
they were called at Uie time. 

37 : Law of attainder. A law which confiscates property because 
of the owner’s treason. 

37 : Eclat. Brilliancy. 

39 : Hebe. The Greek goddess of youth and mirth. 

39 : Vapouring. Bragging. 

39 : Tambouring frame. Two round embroidery frames in th( 
shape of small hoops, one fitting inside the other. 

40 : Took the Germans. Captured the Hessian mercenary troopi 
at the battle of Bennington, August 16, 1777. 

40 : Lord Percy of Lexington, etc. The Lord Percy of Lexingtoi 
led the British in retreat ; the other Lord Percy is mentioned ii 
the old English ballad of Chevy Chase as having fought valiautlj 

454 


NOTES 


455 


43 : Andr6. Andrg was hanged at Tappan, only twenty miles 
om the scene of The Spy, a short time before the events related in 
. . e opening of the first chapter. 

43 : The White Plains. A region about twenty miles northeast of 
New York City, which gained its name from the groves of white 
' ilsam covering it. In 1780 occupied by the Americans. 

51 : Tiger river. The British Colonel Tarleton defeated the 
•1 merican General Sumter at Catawba Fords on Tiger river in the 
' nmmer of 1780. 

52 : Morrisania. Then a village on the southern edge of West- 
• hester county; now part of New York City. In 1780 occupied by 
< '.e British. 

., 52 : Sir Henry’s. Referring to Sir Flenry Clinton, commander of 

■ he British army in New York City. 

52 : Rig’lars . . . militia. British and Continentals. 

53 : De Lancey’s men. See Coopei‘’s note on page 237. 

56 : That vagrant class, etc. “Either before or soon after the 
I rmation of the Union the Northern States, beginning with Ver- 

iiiont in 1777 and ending w'ith New Jersey in 1804, either abolished 
lavery or adopted measures to effect its gradual abolition within 
f ;eir boundaries.” Encyclopedia Britannica. 

57 : Statuary. A sculptor. 

62; the cloth. It was a custom at the end of the meal to 

. umove the tablecloth. The men usually remained talking at the 

■ '.ble, while the ladies retired. 

69 : Carolus III. A Spanish coin stamped with the image of 
harles III, King of Spain. 

74: Matin prime. Strictly speaking, “matin” is the first of the , 
inonical “hours” or services, and “prime” is the second. Scott 
. opears to mean “early morning.” 

81 : Partisan. The special military sense of a member of an 
'. •regular body of troops does not seem to fit here, the Virginia 
orse being obviously treated as a picked troop among the regular 
, >rce of the Continentals. Probably Cooper uses the word to empha- 
ize the fact that the English troops were professional soldiers 
while the Americans were volunteers who served for patriotism. 

92 : Yeoman [Footnote]. A farmer owning a small landed 
:.roperty; a fi’eeholder. 

93 : Vidette. A mounted patrol. 

97 : Argus. A son of Zeus who was supposed to have had a 
hundred eyes. 

100 : Legions and independent corps. Bodies of cavalry and 
infantry composed mainly of loyal colonists. 

100 ; Hessian yagers. German mercenaries from Hesse. “Yagers” 
iS the German “Jaeger,” huntsmen. 

107 : Mohair. A kind of cloth made of the hair of the Angora 
goat. The point is that Wharton is in civilian dress. 

Ill : Hyde Park. A famous park in London. 


456 


NOTES 


% 

120 : Eseulapius. The Greek and Roman god of medicine. 

125 : Highlands. A range of hills and mountains in Eastern 
New York. West Point is in the Highlands. 

128 : The degrees of Edinhnrgh. The Edinburgh medical school 
was long famous. 

128 : Walking your London hospitals. An English idiom for 
studying medicine in the hospitals. 

133 : Cornet. A commissioned rank in the cavalry corresponding 
to ensign in the infantry ; the flag-hearer. The grade is now extinct. 

133: Peperage [pepperidge]. The black gum tree: an exceed- 
ingly tough wood. 

133 : Orimalkin. A name which was frequently given to a cat. 

142 : Oalen. A famous ancient Greek physician. 

145 : The battle of the Plains. The battle of White Plains. A 
victory was gained by the British here in 1776. ' 

145 : Sir William Howe. A British general. Leader of the 
English force which defeated Washington at White Plains. 

146 : The image of Louis. A coin bearing the image of Louis, 
King of France. 

156 : Captain Kidd. The famous pirate who was supposed to 
have buried great wealth. 

161 : An empiric. One who relies entirely upon practical expe- 
rience as the basis for his knowledge. 

161 : Predicary. Meaning “predicament” ; an example of Katy’s 
frequent use of words unfamiliar to her. 

162 : Secundem artem. Literally “according to art or rule ; 
scientifically.” Lawton is making light of the aid to be derived 
from physicians. ^ 

162 : Yarbs. Herbs. 

167 : Basilisk. ^A fabulous serpent whose look was fatal. 

170 : Phlebotomy. Bloodletting ; the act of opening a vein for 
letting blood. 

175 : Leech. A physician. / 

175 r Juno. Wi^e of Jupiter. 

180 : Lazaretto. The prison hospital. 

185: Accomac. A county in Virginia. 

186 : Dutchess. A county east of the Hudson, and some forty 
miles from the scene of The Spy. 

189 : Cornelian. A red stone frequently used for seals. 

191 : Harpies. Mythological creatures, half women, half birds, 
who would snatch food away from people while they wer'e eating. 

196: Duresse. Restraint of liberty. 

196 : It was her children, etc. Dr. Sitgreaves is in error : the. 

first slaves brought to America were brought by a Dutch ship in 1620. 
Note Cooper’s attitude toward slavery and his hope for its gradual 
extinction. 

199: Garniture. Dress. 

199 : Trinity. Trinity Church in New York. , 


NOTES 


457 


206 : The Ministers. Katy confuses the clergy and the ministers 
of state. 

218 : Hippocrates, A famous Greek physician known as the 
Father or Medicine. 

235 : Old Jezehel. The cruel wife of Ahab, King of Israel. 

240: Lato of Moses. Taken from Deuteronomy (XXV. 3), “Forty 
stripes he may give him, and not exceed.” 

252 : Belzehuh. For Beelzebub, a deity of the Philistines ; used 
as a synonym for Satan. 

262 : As an emollient, rather than as a succulent. As something 
soothing but not a food. 

266 : Colossus of Rhodes. An immense statue of bronze which 
stood over the entrance to the harbor of Rhodes. It was said to be 
over one hundred feet in height. 

273 : Cartel. A written agreement for the exchange of prisoners 
of war. 

274 : Doctor Divinitatis. A minister. 

279 : Used in the installation of prelates. The placing of a ring 
on the finger is a part of the ceremony of consecrating a bishop. 

282 : The good Mr. Whitefleld. A remarkable English evangelist 
of the eighteenth century who made many converts both in England 
and America. 

282: A Guinea nagur. Many slaves were imported, from the 
Guinea coast in Africa. From that coast came the first slaves 
imported into America, in 1620. 

306 : Sequestration. Seizure. 

307 : Hammerclothf An ornamented cloth whicn covers the 
coachman’s seat. 

307 : ‘‘Lion couchant.^^ A term in heraldry, meaning a lion 
lying down. • 

308 : Phoenix. A fabulous bird that was able to rise anew from 
its own ashes. 

312 : Arnold’s heart. Showing the attitude in which the soldiers 
held Benedict Arnold after the capture of Andr6 had proved him to 
be a traitor. 

325 : Scylla and Charyhdis. Two large sea-monsters, mentioned 
in the Odyssey, who guarded without rest the Straits of Messina. 

32'5 : Ycleft’d. Called. 

332 : Tappaan. A portion of the Hudson River ten miles north 
of New York* City, where the river broadens out. 

334 : Fishkill. A village on the Hudson River about sixty miles 
north of New York City. 

346 : Heath. See note on page 357. 

351 : Sing-Sing. A village on the Hudson thirty miles north of 
New York City. 

357 : Greene, Heath, and young Hamilton. Nathaniel Greene 
was. next to Washington, the ablest of the American generals. 
Heath was at this time the commander of the American forces in 


458 


NOTES 



the Highlands. Hamilton was the famous Alexander Hamilton, ai 
that time a member of Washington’s staff. ' 

.‘164 : At the pickets. Being flogged. V 

367 Besom. A broom. ^ 

367 : For the elect. Those set apart (“elected”) to be received ! 
Heaven. 


372 : Pinkster frolic. “The next day was the first of the thre( : 
that are devoted to Pinkster, the great Saturnalia of the New Yorlif 
blacks. Although -this festival is always kept with more vivacity al 
Albany than in York, it is far from being neglected, even now, ii 
the latter place.” Quoted from Cooper in the Century Dictionary \ 
381 : Coup-de-main.’’ “In war, a sudden attack by main force ; 

hence, any sudden energetic action intended to effect a purpose bv 
surprise.” Century Dictionary.* 

393 : Cardinal. A short, hooded cloak. 

419 : Palisadoes. An old form for palisades. 

432 : Joshua. . . . enemy. Joshua, X, 12-14. . * ; 

433 : Forenent. Opposite to ; facing. 

436 : Och hone. Irish expression of grief. 

440 : Greene and Rawdon. The commanders respectively of the , \ 
American and the British forces in the South. ■ i 

443 : Doubloons. A gold coin of Spain, worth about eight dollars ; 
in American money. 

448: Chippewa plains. The British were defeated here by 
General WMnfield Scott in 1814. ] 

452 : Lundy’s Lane. A road near Niagara Falls where a battle . 
was fought between the American and the British forces shorUy ;j; 
after the battle of Chippewa. | 


-I 




APPENDIX 





» 




• T 








I 


6 . 

I 


> % 


\ 


4 




f 



* 


4 


I 




0 



•i 





I 















r 










